These Broken Parts
by gingermusicalphan
Summary: After a chance encounter and an unlucky coincidence, Evan Hansen is believed to be the best friend of Connor Murphy, who is in a coma following an unsuccessful suicide attempt. Sustaining the lie is hard enough when it's only his own mind he has to cope with, but when Connor wakes up, things become even more complicated...
1. Chapter 1

**A/N:** ***returns to writing fanfics six months later with a Starbucks* hey hey hey! I'm really excited to be back writing and uploading, and I hope you are too, because this is something completely new and different from what I've written previously. It's even *gasp* a fandom not related to Lin-Manuel Miranda! Yup, Dear Evan Hansen (I'm that mainstream.)**

 **This story will be a slow burn with eventual treebros but I solemnly swear to approach the relationship respectfully. It also, like the show, will handle some dark themes, and I beg of you, if a story that centres on a (failed) suicide attempt is likely to harm your mental health, please don't read it. This chapter is more an introduction so it's relatively safe, but I'm about to do a chapter trigger warning and literally if there's the smallest chance that it will have a negative impact on you, please just leave, your safety and well-being comes first.**

 **CHAPTER TRIGGERS: A panic attack near the end, a smaller almost-panic-attack just before the line break. Some swearing and self-reproach throughout.**

 **If you still think this story is for you, then enjoy!**

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 **These Broken Parts - Chapter 1**

It started with a letter. Or, the important part did, anyway.

Really it started six hours earlier, before the letter was even completed, in an ordinary corridor of an ordinary high school, with a boy, Evan Hansen, who would have given anything to be an ordinary teenager.

In that moment, however, he felt far further from clinging on to some semblance of normality than he could remember being for months, namely because he was being stared down by another teenage boy, Connor Murphy: A boy who, though just as alien as Evan, was beyond caring about how people viewed his palpable otherness. Just moments before, something had happened to leave Connor frozen rigid, and Evan wondering whether it was somehow possible to spontaneously combust if he focused on it hard enough; Namely, a thoughtless, offhand remark aimed at Connor by the closest thing Evan had to a friend, before he walked away from the achingly awkward scene he left behind him.

But walking away was nowhere near so easy for either remaining seventeen year olds. Had it not been just the two of them, Evan would have been able to duck into a crowd, rushing away almost seamlessly, fading into the background as easily as a shadow. It would have been quick and almost painless, and Connor would only have to blink to miss it completely - it wasn't like he lacked practice when it came to running away. But it _was_ just the two of them, alone in that hallway, suffocating in the thick air Jared had left behind him when he spoke that scathing accusation, _freak_.

Jared's insult continued to ricochet around the inside of Evan's overactive mind, batted back and forth by numerous ideas of apologies and excuses he could make, _don't listen to Jared, he says dumb things all the time, he never thinks before he speaks, it's not true._ Somehow, no option seemed good enough to make amends on behalf of his family-friend. Not when his remark had left Connor rooted to the same spot and glaring venomously ahead. Perhaps he should have forgotten about apologising and followed as soon as Jared made to walk away, but he had hesitated, feeling guilty for the word he hadn't even said. His conscience had trapped him, however, because now he couldn't find the words to say, but it seemed too late to leave under the guise of following Jared, and plain rude to simply take off in the other direction, so Evan turned to the only other method of deflection he knew: nervous laughter.

Wrong move.

That much became clear instantly, when Connor suddenly transformed from statue-still to writhing like a flame. He extended his head forwards, his voice dangerously soft as he asked "What the fuck are you laughing at?" He couldn't have expected a reply, since he began to shout before Evan could even open his mouth, "Stop fucking laughing at me! You think I'm a freak?"

"No, I didn't -"

The slam of his boots echoed on the tiled floor as he rapidly approached Evan, and Connor emanated a powerful feeling of disgust as he insisted, " _I'm_ not a freak, _you're_ the fucking freak!"

He was shoving Evan to the ground before he could even think about any of the ridiculous coping methods he'd read about in the numerous leaflets his parents had given him over the years. But luckily for him, he was also too consumed by raging numbness to feel a shred of guilt for lashing out and hurting someone smaller and weaker than himself yet again.

As for Evan, on the ground and all alone (and bitterly deciding he should be used to that by now), he couldn't mirror Connor by storming away; his good arm ached along with his cast-bearing broken one, the oxygen had been knocked out of his chest, and for a solid minute, he struggled to refill his tightening lungs, teetering perilously close to giving into the hysteria hammering within him.

 _Not now, not a panic attack before school's even started, please not now. Come on, not now, not now..._ Shaking hands clasped a shaking head as he fought to keep his nerves within his skull rather than letting them spill out and make a mess in the middle of the hallway floor. _Breathe, hold, breathe, hold, breathe, hold, not now, not now, not now..._

* * *

He wouldn't have been able to explain how he prevented himself from losing control completely if anyone had asked, but luckily for him, nobody did. All he knew was that he got up. He walked away, he hid within himself, and he carried on.

That whole day, Evan did his best not to think about the confrontation, or how _Zoe of all people_ had been the first person to speak to him after he pulled himself back from the edge of a bad panic attack to check he was okay, or how terribly he had messed up talking to her, or how he definitely must have looked half-crazed, what with the sweating and barely holding back tears. His sole reprieve was the distraction offered by the cast encasing his broken arm, which turned out to be simultaneously a blessing and a curse:

The plain white plaster was the cruellest of distractions, because while he wasn't obsessing over what he had done wrong that morning, those thoughts were replaced with the equally disappointing and constantly renewed knowledge that no one was interested in signing his cast. And it's _that_ , the fact that nobody even pretended to care, that lead to the writing of the letter that truly started it all.

His therapist had told him it would help, but somehow, as Evan came to revisit the start he had made that morning on typing up his aspirations for the day, the phrase "pep-talk" seemed somewhat inaccurate; dampened by reality's cold, unyielding splash, it was clear on reflection that all he had done was compile a list of things he should have known he couldn't possibly manage to do. He looked back at the opening:

 _Dear Evan Hansen, Today is going to be an amazing day and here's why, because today, all you have to do is just be yourself._

The addressee and recipient of the letter shook his head, a sound of disgust escaping from his grimacing mouth. It was aimed purely at himself, a small fraction of his internal self-loathing manifesting there as he decided he'd been stupid to be so optimistic. _Be myself? Like when I managed to be so annoying in the space of one minute that Jared had to remind me exactly why he lets me talk to him? Like when I tried to explain my broken arm to Alana and ended up reminding her of her dead grandma? Like when I tried to laugh, to be friendly, to Connor, and he shoved me? Or when I tried to speak to Zoe, but couldn't even string two coherent words together?_

That one had really stung, even more so than the other knock backs he'd suffered that day. Making people uncomfortable was a common event in his life, but it still didn't help him feel anything but total and complete misery now that his crush of six years had seen just how socially incompetent he was. He shook his head, despising how he became suddenly conscious of the tears welling in his eyes as he did so. He swiped angrily at his eyes, the rough, nibbled edges of his nails leaving thin white lines behind as they snagged on his skin.

Evan slumped deeply into the plastic spin chair, and pinched the bridge of his nose in an attempt to placate the threat of tears. The need to do so became all the more necessary a few seconds later, when his phone vibrated within his pocket. It could only be his mother, and not just because it seemed like she called whenever she had more than a heartbeat to spare.

Sure enough, when he checked, a selfie taken three years ago with his round face squeezed against that of the beaming Heidi Hansen lit up the small screen. Pausing momentarily to ensure he was composed enough to speak aloud without exposing his weakness, Evan answered the phone. "Mom?"

"Hey Honey." She paused before continuing, and already her voice was heavy with regret. Evan awaited her news with dread, until she explained, "Look, I know I told you I'd take you to your therapy appointment tonight, but... I'm stuck at work." Her son exhaled, relieved. "I'm so sorry, sweetheart, it's just that there's a bug going around, three people have called in sick, and what with more budget cuts in the pipeline, I figured it can't hurt to show I'm a team player, you know?"

She sounded desperate, as if afraid he would be angry. It couldn't be further from the truth. "That's okay, I can just take a bus, or walk there or something." _I could use half an hour in the fresh air, not doing anything, just trying to... forget?_

"Okay sweetheart, if you're sure. And remember, when you get home we have food in the freezer, or maybe you can order something - there's money right where you left it last night. _If at first you don't succeed_ , you know?" She sounded relieved, hopeful, even, but Evan still noted how she hesitated to chuckle. She, like him, was given to using laughter to fill the lull in conversation, and it soon became clear why the lull had occurred: Heidi was cautious as she broached a sensitive subject, but to Evan, her words held too much expectation for his liking as she asked, "Hey, have you written one of those letters yet? You know, those pep-talks, Dr Sherman will be expecting one - 'Dear Evan Hansen, this is going to be a good day and here's why'?"

The teenager's gaze darted to the screen before him. "Yeah, I'm in the computer lab just about to print it off right now."

"Good!" Her happiness was palpable, and it made Evan's skin crawl with guilt: he suspected she wouldn't be nearly so cheerful if she could see how the tears were welling in his eyes once more despite his best efforts. He sniffed, then hurriedly disguised it as a cough. "I hope it _was_ a good day, sweetheart?"

Evan shook his head, bitterly comforted by the fact that his mother had no means of knowing the truth. He forced a lightness into his words as he lied, "Yeah, it was great!"

"Great. I hope..." Evan willed her to keep on talking - he knew he wouldn't be able to reply to her at that moment without a sob causing his voice to crack. She consented to his unspoken wish, with the same desperate optimism with which he had penned his letter that morning: "I hope this is the beginning of a great year. I think we _both_ could use one of those." She sighed contentedly, before her tone shifted completely, "Sorry, Honey, I've gotta run. Love you, bye."

The line had already been cut off when Evan quietly replied, "Bye."

He shoved his mobile back in his pocket, and leaned forwards, rereading his typed letter. It was exactly what his mom had hoped, precisely what the doctor had ordered.

And it was a complete pack of lies that could be torn apart line by line by the sharp shards of broken dreams he'd collected in the duration of the day. He had lost count of the times his therapist had told him that she could only help him if he was completely honest, and it wasn't like he had the best track record, but he _tried_ to steer fairly close to the truth most of the time. What he saw before him was nothing but a fabrication. _Dr Sherman will see straight through it, so who are you trying to convince? Yourself? Fake it til you make it? That's not going to work._ Evan decided to rewrite the letter from the beginning.

 _Dear Evan Hansen, Turns out this wasn't an amazing day after all. This isn't gonna be an amazing week or an amazing year, because why would it be? Oh, I know, because there's Zoe, and all my hope is just pinned on Zoe, who I don't even know, and who doesn't know me... But I don't know, maybe if I did, if I could just talk to her, then maybe... maybe nothing would be different at all. I wish everything was different. I wish I was a part of something, I wish that anything I said mattered to anyone. I mean face it, would anyone even notice if I just disappeared tomorrow?_

 _Sincerely, your best and most dearest friend, Me._

He stared at the screen, and the screen stared back. A small part of his mind fretted that handing that letter to his therapist could only cement his doctor's evidently growing concern that his medication ought to be reviewed, that perhaps his current cocktail of drugs wasn't sufficient to combat his depressive thoughts, yet he couldn't bring himself to change one more word. _All I have to do is be myself, right? Well, at least_ this _letter is honest._

After sending the letter to print, Evan set about logging off and gathering his things together, a process made frustrating by only having one arm fully at his disposal, becoming so focused on not dropping anything that he didn't even notice the sound of footsteps, significantly softer due to the carpeted floor of the computer lab, as a slender slip of a boy drew nearer.

Though Connor's voice was quiet, the surprise of not being alone caused Evan to jump out of his seat and back away as his soft words shattered the dusty silence: "So -"

 _Fuck_. Evan fought the urge to swear aloud, settling for internally berating himself, _You have to go and overreact, make him think you're afraid of him again, no wonder he looks like he wants to finish what he started this morning_. What Evan perceived as anger was truly confusion; Connor seemed almost as shocked by Evan's reaction as Evan himself, causing him to hesitate.

His voice faltered, catching awkwardly in his uncomfortably dry throat as he asked, "What... happened to your... arm?"

 _Just try to take deep breaths,_ Evan reassured himself. Making a conscious effort not to revert to his usual nervous laughter, he replied, "I fell out of a tree, actually."

"Fell out of a tree?" He phrased it like a question, but the pensive expression on his face suggested he didn't really expect Evan to either confirm nor deny. Evan nodded quickly, and Connor chuckled as he declared, "That is just the saddest fucking thing I've ever heard, oh my God."

"I know -" Evan started to join in with Connor's half-hearted laughter, before quickly stopping himself, remembering only too well how he had reacted earlier. Almost as if he could read Evan's thought process, the light melted away from Connor's face, and all traces of humour were replaced with impenetrable clouds.

Still he pushed on, despite clearly being uncomfortable, reaching for something to say. He saw as Evan began to dig his thumbnail into each of his fingertips in turn, quickly, systematically, while the other hand fiddled with a strand of thread fraying at the edge of his cast. Something clicking inside his brain, Connor blurted, "No one's signed your cast."

Evan had managed to lift his gaze from the ground sufficiently that he was almost making eye contact, but the moment Connor mentioned that, they snapped back to the floor. His mumbled reply was near inaudible as feigned nonchalance, "No, I - I know." _I know no one wants to sign it, I'm not even surprised. I just don't want Mom to see, she'll be so disappointed, the one thing she told me to do and -_

"I'll sign it."

For the first time, Evan looked at Connor, really looked at him, taking in his long hair, sharp features, blank blue eyes and all. He had no reason to care, and by the look of him, he was exactly as indifferent as he appeared. _He's offering out of pity. He doesn't want to, shouldn't feel obligated to, it's not like he owes you a thing._ "You don't have to." Evan cracked a weak smile to mask his shame and ease Connor's conscience.

Connor just shrugged. "Do you have a Sharpie?"

 _So he's signing it, then_ , Evan realized. His good hand was automatically reaching into his pocket to where he'd placed the pen that morning, ready to pull out at any moment for anyone to sign. He'd hoped it would have been used before that chance encounter. He'd not even considered that it might be used by the school stoner, but in a twist of fate, it turned out that Connor was the first and only person to show some kind of interest. He watched, submissive to the turn his afternoon had taken, as Connor pulled his arm out straight, then scrawled his name in large, obnoxious capitals, choosing to ignore how his hands seemed to shake; he surely wouldn't be telling his Mom how the sole person to sign his cast had been itching for a fix as he had done it. Connor dropped his arm and handed back the pen immediately after finishing, leaving Evan to review the single signature. It was huge, messy and comforting. "Great, thanks."

He didn't notice Connor's bitter half-smile as he replied, "Well, now we can both pretend we have friends."

"Uh... Good point."

He thought that would be the end of it, that Connor would leave and they would go their separate ways, never to interact again, but no; Connor was holding out a sheet of paper, trying to maintain a somewhat amiable smile as he asked, "Is this yours? I found it on the printer, 'Dear Evan Hansen,' that's your name, right?"

"Uh, yes, that's my name but it's not anything important, it's just, uh, it's just -" His stomach twisted with fear, and Evan was immediately nodding and talking and reaching all at once, trying to get his letter before Connor's eyes could stray any further down the page, because he might be intimidating and prone to violence, but Connor was the _one_ person to have shown a shred of interest that day; though this short interaction hadn't made Evan think he had the potential to be anything like a real friend, he was starting to entertain the possibility of maybe smiling at Connor if he happened to pass him in the hall. But if he read that letter, _why did you have to be so honest with that stupid letter,_ he'd have irrevocable confirmation that Evan was exactly the freak Connor had called him that morning, giving him the power to make Evan's life even more difficult. _Please stop reading, please don't see,_ "- it's just this stupid thing that I had to do for some dumb assignment but I really need it so could you please just -"

"Because there's _Zoe_?" Anger didn't quite capture the expression on the Murphy boy's face. There was a definite air of loathing there, but along with that was something unidentifiable, almost like resignation, mixed with anguish, and a heady dash of spite thrown in.

He felt his throat tighten like it did when he was about to break out into full-on sobs, _how could I be so stupid as to write about Zoe, why did I even think anyone needed to know about that, why couldn't I just keep that to myself, what's wrong with me,_ "No, like I said, it's nothing -"

"This is about my sister." The letter was out of Evan's reach. Connor's building rage, however, was growing closer to engulfing him with every rapid heartbeat; "What the fuck is wrong with you, are you stalking my sister or something?"

"No, no, honestly it's just this stupid -"

Those cold, blank eyes fixed upon Evan, commanding him not to look away however much he squirmed under such close scrutiny. He fell silent as Connor insisted, "You wrote this because you knew that I would find it." He nodded, talking himself through the logic of how the smaller boy had seemingly sought to hurt him, "Yeah, you saw that I was the only other person in the computer lab, so you wrote this and printed it out so that I would find it."

Of course it wasn't true, not least because Evan hadn't even noticed that he wasn't alone, but the conviction with which Connor spoke revealed that there was no point whatsoever in trying to explain that to him; He looked as though he was about to resume the confrontation he'd initiated that morning, and a part of Evan wished he would if it meant he would be done staring at him. But it didn't quite make sense, how Connor was convinced that he had set out to hurt him.

Stammering, he couldn't keep himself from asking, "W-why, uh, why would I do that?"

Connor snapped; his increasing rage burst from him, ripping him at the seams as he tore into Evan, "So I could read some creepy shit you wrote about my sister and _freak out_ , right, and then you can tell everyone that I'm _crazy_ , right?" Connor was screaming now, and close enough to Evan that he could make out the sweat gathering on his forehead. "Jesus Christ, I guess everyone's a fucking asshole. Fuck you!"

Evan expected a punch, maybe even for Connor to pull out a weapon (that was something people joked about, but Evan had never thought it might be true until that moment.). At the very least, he had braced himself for another hefty shove. But it never came, and though he winced in anticipation of the impact, when he tentatively opened his eyes, Connor was gone.

The letter had been scrunched up in his shaking hand the last time Evan had seen it. Now he didn't hold a hope of laying eyes on it again, save for if Connor decided to plaster it all over the internet, exposing him for the broken mess that he truly was. And why wouldn't he? _Surely he must be tired of being branded the school freak, it would benefit him for all of those judgemental whispers to be directed onto someone new_.

An overwhelming urge to throw up seized Evan, bringing him to his knees, but he managed to resist. Instead, he succumbed to the panic attack that had been lurking inside his chest since that morning, crumbling apart into a heaving, shuddering mess on the computer lab floor.

It was perfectly normal for Evan to have to face his panic attacks alone - no one ever came to find him, to help calm him down. So on that occasion, as always, once the shivering and the tears had mostly subsided into silence, he was left wondering if he had ever made a sound at all.

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 **A/N: and so my adventures in Dear Evan Hansen writing begins.**

 **I think this chapter can be teen-rated, but the rating will likely go up, owing to the heavy themes, you know (but I promise it won't be graphic descriptions of an attempt). If you think that the swears makes this chapter a higher rating, just let me know and I will move it up.**

 **Finally, please give me feedback, this is kind of a new style for me and I'd love to know what you think. Thanks so much for taking the time to read this, and I will update soon!**


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N:** **Hello reader, thanks for being here! Here comes chapter two, which I wrote and rewrote three times before this version. I hope it's good enough, because the positivity following the last chapter just makes me want to make this whole thing great. (Also one of you said I wrote Evan stammering quite well in the last chapter. Thanks so much, but I'm sorry to say, I think I've overdone it in this one :3)**

 **TRIGGER WARNING: This chapter includes non-explicit discussions of a suicide attempt.**

 **Please, I beg you, don't read this if you have even the slightest fear that it could have a negative impact on your mental health. YOU come first, your emotional well-being is worth infinitely more to me than you reading this. If you still think this is something you want to read, then I hope you enjoy it!**

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 **These Broken Parts - Chapter 2**

The grey sky above mirrored Evan Hansen's sentiments perfectly when he returned to school on Thursday, two days after receiving the only signature on his cast. He hadn't breathed a word to anyone about what had happened with Connor and the letter, not even to Jared, who often found himself on the receiving end of Evan's recounts of his latest social disaster. This time round, the prospect of enduring his family friend's scathing criticisms seemed an unnecessary punishment, especially when the barrier between himself and the closest thing he had to a friend seemed even more impenetrable after an entire summer with no contact. Besides, Evan was already racked with guilt over the whole affair, to the extent that he had taken the previous day off specifically to avoid the infamous school stoner, pleading a headache to his mother. She hadn't pressed the matter - perhaps she could tell just how much he needed to be alone and quiet for a day. Or, maybe the name on her son's cast had made her so proud that she was willing to compromise.

Truth be told, he would have gladly spent a second day in laying silently bed, except that he didn't want her to worry that there was something genuinely wrong with him. Well, something _else_ wrong with him.

 _At least today should be uneventful: no assignments due in, no awful classes, no more room for people to sign my cast so no reason to ask - heck, I probably won't need to speak at all today._

That very realistic idea offered Evan the greatest consolation since his panic attack on Tuesday evening; It was perfectly feasible, considering a grand total of two of his classmates ever actually spoke to him, and even then it was only under specific conditions (Namely, Jared would sometimes stray over if he decided his other _insanely cool friends_ were being a little too boring for his taste, or occasionally Alana Beck would chat to him if she happened to be passing him in the halls or sitting nearby in class.). Even the teachers were prevented from calling on him in class ever since he'd been given a doctor's note half way through the last year, so he had a good chance of being able to simply keep his head down and muddle through the day without it somehow becoming even worse than Tuesday.

The mere memory of that awful day caused his step to falter as he passed the school gates. _What am I doing here, I shouldn't be here, I should be someplace where I can't hurt anyone_. He hesitated to set another foot down, but after biting his lip to consider the pro's and con's of bunking off, he decided it wasn't worth it. _No, keep going. You can't skip again, it wouldn't be fair on mom._ In an attempt to distract himself, he began to mentally write a new letter to himself.

 _Dear Evan Hansen, today is going to be a good day because all you have to do is just go into school and not talk to anybody and not make anyone mad, just enter that building and go straight to your form room and then just sit there quietly and write all of this down in a letter without saying anything stupid like the day before yesterday and then wait for the bell and then go to class and then -_

"Evan, oh good, you're here. There's someone who needs to talk to you."

His perfect plan was dashed before he'd even entered the building, let alone committed it to paper. He glanced up at the uncomfortably close voice, and saw that it came from Mrs Harper, the school receptionist. Staring at the ground, he hadn't noticed her approach, but she was right next to him, looking down on him through her thick glasses. His hunched form became rigid when, without warning, she set a hand on his elbow and began and guiding him away from the main entrance to the school building, instead directing him towards the separate block containing conference rooms and, most infamously, the Principal's office.

The very presence of the receptionist, whose sympathetic smile and condescending tone he'd become familiar with during his many times signing out early for doctors appointments, in any place other than her perpetual post at the front desk, was alone enough to unnerve him. But added to the fact that she had to be taking him to see the Principal made his stomach drop way past his unsteady knees, and he felt compelled to wipe his suddenly clammy hands on his jeans, except she was still holding his arm and he couldn't reach, and he couldn't just pull away from her without looking crazy, and it felt like people were staring and he didn't want to cause a scene but he was panicking, white noise thrumming in his head, and mentally he couldn't stop scolding his own idiocy, _See this is exactly the kind of thing you wanted to avoid, you should have skipped you should have skipped you should have skipped..._

Evan had never actually seen the inside of that block, but he knew that it was where the worst behaved students were sent to be disciplined, or worse, expelled. He began digging his fingernails into his thumb as Mrs Harper informed him, "You'll not be going to class today, your teachers have already been told. They may choose to email you some work to catch up on, but I doubt it considering the circumstances..."

She shook her head solemnly, and Evan was sure he had never felt more baffled. _I'm not going to class, I'm being taken to the Principal's office instead, and the teachers might not even send me work to catch up on - am I being thrown out of the school?_ Immediately his mind jumped to the overly exposing letter, _Did Connor show Zoe the letter, is that what this is about? What if this is part of some... I don't know, some restraining order, what if she thinks I'm a threat to her? I know she must think I'm weird, but could she really..._

Another, even more horrifying alternative struck him, _Did someone see the letter and decide I belong in a psychiatric hospital? Are they going to take me away - can they_ do _that?_

He nearly bolted for it then and there, but Mrs Harper's had was suddenly on his back rather than his elbow, nudging him through the door, which they had reached in the time it took for Evan's frightened mind to race through the possible explanations. "Come on," she coaxed, her condescending, pity-filled smile at an all-time maximum.

As irritating as it was, a part of his mind rationed that she wouldn't try (and fail) to reassure him if it had been decided that he was mentally unstable enough to pose a threat to himself and others. The main part of his mind, however, was immediately preoccupied with honing in on the voices coming from Principal Howard's ajar office door.

"Of course, I completely respect that this must be a very distressing time for your family. Zoe can take all the time she needs to come to terms with what's happened."

 _Zoe_... Fear for the girl he'd adored since the sixth grade struck him, but was quickly succeeded by renewed guilt. _Something's happened to her - or is it that she's_ afraid _that something will happen to her if I'm allowed to be within, like, five miles of her? It's a restraining order, it must be a restraining order, well that's just_ brilliant _, how can I ever explain that to Mom? I'll have to change schools, we might have to move house to be further away, or what if we can't move and I end up with a criminal record for accidentally breaking my totally unnecessary restraining order and then I have to explain to any future employers that I'm technically a reprobate because my house was a little too close to the house of a girl I had a crush on and wrote one line of one letter about when I was seventeen?_

His agitated mind continued to race, before a second male voice replied to the principal:

"And Evan Hansen?"

Evan stopped walked altogether, freezing outside the door though Mrs Harper indicated for him to step inside.

One of the men sighed, then Mr Howard replied, "Of course. He should arrive soon, and I can step outside if you would prefer, allow you to explain the situation to him yourself. We'll sign him out, and then you can take him straight to the hospital."

 _Fuck_.

 _Well, at least being institutionalized in some hospital in the middle of nowhere will make adhering to a restraining order more doable._

"Alright Evan, go on in. Sir, Evan Hansen's here," Mrs Harper called, before opening the door fully and gently pushing him over the threshold.

Principal Howard was already standing, and swiftly made to leave as soon as he saw the unremarkable student, standing there awkwardly and twisting his agitated hands into knots. He slipped past Evan, forcing him to shuffle slightly further into the room, then closed the door, both members of staff shut off from Evan and the stranger.

The other man had been sitting, but jumped to his feet at once, running one hand across his greying head of hair and closely regarding the newcomer.

His eyes narrowed, and he looked the teenager up and down searchingly, curious, a little surprised as if he had been anticipating something other than a shortish, round-faced, broken-armed nervous wreck of a boy. His search was fruitless, something he seemed to accept after a few seconds of just staring, when he shook his head quickly and began, " _Sorry_ , you're just not what I expected at all. I don't really know _what_ I expected, I never thought, I never even _knew_ he -" the man caught himself babbling and stopped at once, with a level of self-restraint that the teenager could only dream of possessing. He took a deep breath before plastering a shaky, business-like smile onto his face and offering a hand. "Evan Hansen, right?" Evan nodded, and wiped both hands firmly on his jeans one last time before reluctantly extending one to the man. "I'm Mr Murphy - _Larry_ , Larry Murphy. Connor's dad?"

The family resemblance would have been clear to anyone who paid attention to Connor's physical appearance beyond the greasy hair and black nails - they shared the same tall figure, high cheekbones, and piercing blue eyes, but these similarities were lost on Evan. He only nodded, and looked away, his gaze happening to fall on a chair.

Larry noticed, and hurriedly invited, "Take a seat, please." He did the same, and after a second, Evan copied, deeply confused by the entire situation. His best guess, amidst the many running haphazardly through his mind, was that Connor had shown his dad his letter and sent him in to warn him off his daughter. Which, for some reason, the school had consented to, but then _that_ didn't exactly make sense either... The puzzled boy frowned involuntarily.

But Mr Murphy seemed in no hurry to explain, since he took a moment to breathe slowly a few times, and then rummage carefully, purposefully, inside his pocket. He unfolded a sheet of paper, and appeared to read it, before offering it to the perplexed young man before him, and only then did he begin to explain:

"Connor, he, uh... He left this for you, I think."

Evan took the paper, and recognized it for what it was as soon as it was between his fingertips. _My letter... He gave it back to me. Or he told his dad to._ Stunned, he stuttered, "H-he - uh, Connor - told you to... give me this?"

Mr Murphy grimaced, "It's addressed to you, isn't it?"

"So he told -"

"It's unexpected, he's never mentioned you before," the man unintentionally disregarded Evan's attempt to extract some more conclusive details. Understandably, his focus wasn't quite at his usual standard.

Trying again to comprehend the situation, Evan tentatively began, "Then did he actually -"

"You must be pretty close, you two." Mr Murphy continued, his words clipped and quick.

His unanswered questions yielded no answers, only more bewilderment. Utterly at sea, Evan clarified, "Close?"

"Or Connor thought so, anyway." A pattern was becoming clear, in that Larry Murphy seemed set on being as vague as possible, and scarcely delving into any information that might actually serve to enlighten the thoroughly baffled teenager.

Determined to get a real answer, Evan didn't allow any interruption to stop him asking, "But about Connor - did he actually, um, I mean, uh - what did he _say_ about this? Did he tell you to give it to me or not?"

Mr Murphy didn't reply promptly, which Evan took as a good sign, until he sighed, the formal persona deflating, and shook his head. Apprehension building as he started to put the pieces together, Evan noticed how exhausted the man looked, his eyes bloodshot, his greyed hair untidy as if he'd forgotten to comb it and had tried to palm it into cooperation instead, and one of his shirt buttons paired to the wrong hole. He listened with rapt attention, which soon melted into fear, as Mr Murphy explained, "He couldn't tell us, it was too late for that by the time we got to him. He already -" his voice cracked, and he had to swallow hard before continuing, "- he was already passed out, when we found him. It didn't look like - no, it _wasn't_ \- an accident, he had tried to -" Larry's internal battle to resist crying became visible upon his strained face, and with a jolt of cold realisation, it became clear to Evan exactly why the man had been keen to keep his replies so short, why he didn't dare look further into his emotions, and what the struggling father was trying to say:

"Y-your s - Connor, um... He tried to end it?" He offered. He couldn't bring himself to speak aloud the phrase _kill himself_ , it sounded so much more violent. _To end it_ seemed gentler, like slipping away, just letting go...

Mr Murphy nodded, and forcefully collected himself. "Yes, he... Yeah. We got him to the hospital as soon as we found him, and he went straight into surgery. They were working on him until this morning." At Evan's widening eyes, he added, "He's stable, or he was stable when I left. My wife refused to leave the hospital, so she would have told me if anything had changed since I've been gone."

Though he hardly knew the suicidal teenager, (and hadn't gotten the best impression of him on Tuesday) Evan's relief that at least he wasn't dead was enormous. _He's okay. There's clearly been a terrible mistake, a wild assumption made about what my letter actually meant, but he can just explain to his parents about why he had the letter, and they'll think I'm crazy but they'll let me shuffle off out of their lives without getting caught up in whatever Larry Murphy thinks this is._

But Larry's continuation dashed those hopes somewhat, "He's in a coma now, they don't know at all how long he'll stay that way, but he wasn't breathing for a little while so the doctors said that, even though it wasn't medically induced, it's the best thing for him, it, uh, it reduces the risk of lasting brain damage." The teenager couldn't understand how a father could discuss how his son was in such a serious condition without breaking down, but he didn't dare judge him; Larry might be doing a good job at keeping his emotions in check when he spoke, but he emanated such a strong sense of despair that Evan had no doubt of how real his grief was. "I came here to collect you, because Cynthia, my wife, thought that if he has a friend he cares about more than anyone in his family, then that friend should be allowed to see Connor."

Evan blinked. "A f-friend?"

Mr Murphy frowned momentarily. "Well, normally it's family only at this stage, but in these circumstances, yes, a friend. That letter was all he had with him, and you can see that he... He wanted them to be his last words, and he wanted them to be to _you_. He wanted _you_ to understand, more than anyone else."

Larry's sombre, sincere gaze was heavily loaded with expectation. Evan wanted to disappear.

 _No, no, no, you've got it all wrong, so, so wrong._

Evan didn't respond. Misinterpreting the reason for his silence, Larry kept on talking, seeming to grow more exasperated as he did so, "You're his best friend, right, I mean, he clearly thinks you're his best friend. He wrote that to you, he must want it to go to you, and I'm sure he would really appreciate you being there at the hospital, so..." He gestured towards the paper again, as if that meant the case was well and truly closed. Still the boy didn't respond - couldn't begin to process it all. "I know it's a lot to take in, maybe you'll see more clearly once you're at the hospital. But we should get going as soon as possible, I mean, just in case..."

He didn't have to say anything more to make it achingly blatant that he still feared so terribly for his son's life. Evan had always hated disappointing people, especially when they were already so low - it was the same reason he hadn't feigned an illness that morning, and _that_ was a decision he was regretting more than he could possibly have guessed fifteen minutes previously, when he had been wondering whether he should just turn around and go back home.

Regardless of regrets, when looking at Larry Murphy, the smallest glimmer of hope shone out amidst the dull sorrow that had all but consumed the poor man. _The letter, that's what it must be. That's what his tiny bit of hope is_. Evan nodded.

A terse smile formed on Mr Murphy's face, and he stood, trusting the small teenager to follow when he strode towards the door and out of the office block, towards a sleek grey car. At least he wasn't pulling Evan along, something the anxious teenager appreciated; it made him feel almost like he was in control of the situation.

He opened the passenger side door for Evan, then walked around to the other side, briskly explaining as he did so, "We just need to make a stop at the house, I've got to pick up a change of clothes for Zoe and Cynthia. Then we'll be at the hospital, and you can see him."

His own experiences of hospitals told him that a change of clothes meant it had been either a relatively long stay or a really messy incident. Evan began wondering about the hows, whats and whens of Connor's attempt, _They must have been at the hospital for a while. When did they find Connor, yesterday? The day before? Was he at home, or had he been missing? Was there any blood, or did he try something else? How long have they been waiting for news, how long have they been hoping that their son's supposed_ best friend _can come along and make things seem a little bit better?_

Evan stole a look at Larry. His hands gripped the steering wheel tightly, so much so that his white knuckles pressed against his skin. He swallowed again, still fighting against the grief welling up inside him.

At once the teenager looked away from the tortured father, feeling like an intruder and ardently wishing he could be anywhere else but shut in a car beside a man on the brink of falling apart.

It seemed like a huge responsibility, to take on the role of a comatose boy's best friend, one he definitely didn't want: he didn't intend to become involved in any kind of deception, he just couldn't bring himself to let down Mr Murphy, to tell him that the thing he'd been hoping for, that his son could have someone he was close to waiting beside his hospital bed, was an impossible dream.

 _I can't tell him the truth, not when it looks like that tiny shred of hope is the only thing keeping him going._

"It's good," Mr Murphy eventually choked, drawing Evan's attention back to him, "that you're coming. You're the one person Connor actually cared about explaining it to, it's _right_ that you should be there for him through this. You clearly mean the most to him, more than any of his family. I'm sure he wouldn't even _want_ us there, but _you_..." He shook his head. "He deserves to have at least _one_ person he actually cares about waiting for him. I'm glad he'll have that. I'm sorry that _I_ couldn't... _be_ that."

Mr Murphy's words faded into a hoarse whisper, and this time he didn't swallow when the urge to cry hit hard; he relinquished just the tiniest bit of ground, permitting a sole tear to fall.

Not bothering to wipe it away, he rammed his key into the car, started the engine, and drove, with not one word more passing between them for the rest of the journey.

* * *

Evan paid attention to the street names and house numbers on the short drive to the Murphy's house and then to the hospital, since having something to focus on kept him from completely freaking out on the way. Even then, it was with a small gasp that he drew in every breath, and his palms grew moist and itchy against his knees as he worked his fingers into the fabric of his trousers.

The familiar, sharp scent of disinfectant hit Evan in the back of the throat the instant he stepped into a compartment of the revolving door, and the glaring lights seemed too bright compared to the miserable sky outside as soon as he entered the hospital.

Dragging his feet, he followed Mr Murphy to the intensive care unit, past a series of dimly lit, windowed rooms with single beds inside, until the man stopped at the second door from the end of the corridor, and knocked.

Peering through the window to the room, Evan saw a white sheet covering a person-sized lump, the face blocked from his sight by the figure of a familiar girl in purple pyjamas, who remained totally still, and an older woman with red hair in a brown tracksuit, who turned immediately at the knock and came straight out of the room. She approached them, arms stretched towards Mr Murphy. Relief seemed to radiate from her teary smile - Evan supposed she must be clinging onto the small victories by this point, to stay sane. He knew the technique well.

She spoke softly and keenly, more like a new parent beside the cot of a sleeping baby than a mother of a suicidal, comatose teenager. "Larry! You're back, they said we could start going in to sit with him just after you left. Zoe's still in there now. You should go and check she's alright, she wouldn't talk - to me, _or_ to Connor."

Her spouse sighed, tension evident in his face as he muttered, "Why _should_ she talk to him? He's in a coma, Cynthia, he can't hear you."

At once, Mrs Murphy's open arms dropped coolly to her side, and her hushed voice became indignant as she insisted, "The nurses said that he _might_ be able to hear things when he's closer to waking up, and that for some patients, stimulating their senses might make their recovery faster. Every case is different, you can't just base all your knowledge of our son's coma on what you've picked up from whatever that ridiculous medical drama you watch is. It doesn't make you smarter than a real life nurse!"

"Did I say it did?" Mr Murphy snapped back, equal parts angered and hurt, and for a few seconds Evan recognized a spark of Connor Murphy reflected in his father. Almost as soon as it appeared, the flame died, and the exhausted husband shook his head, defeated. "I brought your clothes, and Zoe's. I'll go talk to her," Mr Murphy replied, passing his wife half of the pile in his arms, before walking away to do as he said.

Evan didn't watch them - he already felt like he was intruding on the family's struggle, without staring at an exchange between father and daughter. Instead, his focus became the middle-aged woman before him. It was clear that she'd recently been crying, but she managed a genuinely warm smile as she greeted, "You must be Evan. I wish I could say I'd heard plenty about you, but..." She glanced through the window, towards her motionless son. The look of agony in her eyes caused Evan's pounding chest to tighten. The smiling facade crumbled tragically easily, and she sobbed, pressing shaking hands to her mouth, evidently still in shock from her son's suicide attempt. "He never told us, not a word." Her quaking shoulders were hunched, heavy with the burden of failure. Wailing, she lamented, "He didn't tell us _anything_ , he couldn't even tell his own family." She produced a small pack of tissues from her pocket, and took one for herself as well as Evan and dabbed delicately at her nose before she could go on, "He didn't talk to us, not about _you_ , not about _himself_ , how bad it had become - what kind of mother does that make me? What kind of mother doesn't know even the smallest thing about her son?"

Her raspy tears were a tragedy to witness, but Evan was at a loss for words; anything he told her would be a blatant lie, and on top of that, plain hypocrisy. He knew, or at least he thought he knew, why Mrs Murphy felt so helpless, because he recognized in her the same lost look his mom always had when she tried to talk to him: he never told her when something was really wrong, and it seemed Connor was the same, so he was in no position to judge either the mother or the son.

Her sobbing eventually subsided, and the shuddering lessened. Cynthia's hands pressed against the glass as she murmured, "I'm so sorry this is your first impression of our family. You must think we're awful for having let it get this far."

"No, I don't, y- you're not -" The urge to defend himself against what wasn't even really an accusation was automatic. He didn't want to cause offence, and besides, it was clear the poor woman was blaming herself so much that he couldn't help but sympathize.

Though he hardly knew her, her obvious self-reproach made him feel awful. He'd imagined his own mother, how she would have reacted if he'd told her the truth about what he'd done that summer, and it was exactly the sight he saw looking at Cynthia Murphy.

Reaching for something reassuring to say, he tried, "He uh, it's just that he's a really... private person?" _I know better than anyone, no one comes running if they don't hear you fall._

Mrs Murphy sniffed, and nodded, thankful for that small shred of comfort despite being certain she didn't deserve it. Gratitude compelled her to reply, " _You_ know him, you must. Even with him being so private, _you_..." She smiled, and Evan could feel how much it caused her heart to ache as she insisted, "He trusts you. His letter, written to you, it shows how much _you_ mean to him."

 _You clearly mean the most to him, more than any of his family, I'm sure he wouldn't even want us there, but you..._

Larry Murphy's words played through his mind again, striking Evan once again with self-condemnation, as he recognized not for the first time the way his little white lie had made another member of Connor's family feel like they were not enough.

His conviction that he was helping the family's hope to endure wavered. _You're doing more harm than good here, you should just tell her the truth and be done with it. Best case scenario, you could be on a bus back to school in time for the start of second period, worst case, you arrive halfway through, but then you could just wait until break and join in third period. Either way, it would be like you were never even here._

But Cynthia spoke again, her smile growing beyond a bittersweet grimace, into a beaming ray of appreciation, and she continued, "I'm _so_ pleased he has somebody like that, someone who really understands him. I'm so glad you're here for my Connor, Evan." She tentatively put a hand on his shoulder, oblivious to how he cringed and shuffled incrementally away from her touch.

Evan's resolve to come clean melted away completely.

"Hey, um..." He hesitated, uncertain what to say. Not the truth, that was for sure. The next idea to come to him was something that would have made Tuesday-Evan feel nauseous, but made perfect sense to Thursday-Evan and his guilty conscience. He reached into his pocket and produced the folded letter, opening it and handing it to Cynthia. "I guess... You need it more than I do."

Cynthia gasped, her entire face lighting up. Her eyes filled with tears once more, but this time they did not fall.

 _Is that a nice thing I just did? By this point I guess I should be lucky to consider anything I do as even vaguely helpful._

Regardless of his misgivings, the gesture meant the world to the suffering woman. She pulled him into a fierce, thankful embrace. On his mission to do good, Evan resisted the instinctive response to squirm out of her grasp and instead allowed her to hold him, albeit only when he was as stiff as a board, the ache of guilt fading slightly as she murmured, "Thank you, Evan." After a few seconds, she released him, and breathed deeply, gathering herself. She didn't pretend to force a smile this time, which might explain why her calmness seemed marginally less transient. "I suppose you'll be wanting to go in and see him?"

 _Stand next to the body that presently terrifies me more than any other?_ "Um, y-yes, yeah, that would be..." _horrible, what if he wakes up and sees me? He'd kill me at a glance. But there's no way to get out of it without looking like I'm a bad friend - hilarious, considering I don't even know the guy, but this family is relying on me and I don't want to let them down..._ "Great, uh, great."

"Great? Great!" Cynthia chuckled despite her grief, and motioned for Evan to follow her the short distance to the door. "He probably won't wake up for a little while, it can last from hours to days to even longer, but you can speak to him, or hold his hand, or just sit with him - whatever you want." He nodded nervously, and she opened the door.

He thought he was ready, but he couldn't have possibly prepared himself for the gut-wrenching pity he felt seeing a hopeful mother gently calling to her unconscious son, "Connor, sweetheart, you've got a friend here to see you."

"You see?" A muted female voice came from the figure curled cat-like into her chair. Her face was pressed against her knees and hidden by her long hair, but Evan could imagine precisely the displeased, exasperated expression that would be accompanying that tone of voice - he'd seen it twice, once when he and Zoe Murphy both happened to be studying in the library, and another time when he had glanced into a music practice room and seen her fiddling with the tuning on her guitar. As with every detail he'd ever noticed about Zoe, he had committed it to memory. He always found his gaze drifting to her if ever they were in relative proximity, and now he was openly allowed to be so near to her, he couldn't stop looking at her.

"Don't use that tone," her father scolded, but there was no real urgency about his demand. "Your mom's just trying to -"

"To what? Wake him up? Make him feel better? He tried to _kill himself_ , I don't think he'd appreciate your efforts." Her head snapped up as she fired the scathing retort at her mother, but though there was an abundance of anger bubbling up within her, she didn't continue. No, her eyes had fallen upon the boy loitering just beyond her mom's shoulder. She knew the name and the face, she just hadn't actually paired it up to the name at the top of her brother's supposed suicide note, and her surprise at seeing him there made her irritation at Cynthia fade to insignificance. Raising a sceptical eyebrow at the newcomer, she flatly stated, "You've got to be kidding."

"Zoe!" The muttered warning came from Larry, and had no effect.

"No, seriously, _you're_ the one Connor is meant to have written his note to? He never even _spoke_ to you, unless you count yelling - I saw him shove you the other day, remember? You're not his friend, you can't be."

Evan's mouth opened and closed without a word coming out, shifting his weight and digging his fingernails one by one into his thumbs. Fortunately, Mrs Murphy came to his rescue, sternly defending, "You know Zoe, you and Connor haven't been the closest of siblings for the past few years. There must be whole parts of his life you know nothing about, and I'm sure his friendship with Evan is just one of those many things."

Zoe laughed, a bitter, sarcastic, choking kind of sound eerily reminiscent of Connor's chuckle. "Yeah, _wow_ , I wonder _why_ we haven't been getting along. You don't think it could be that he's been completely messed up from doing heroin and whatever other shit he was injecting for years, do you, or maybe that he's threatened to kill me like _a million_ times, or maybe that the only times when he's not being a total ass is when he's too stoned to even know where he is? Take your pick, mom!" She stood up, he chair noisily scraping on the hospital floor, and turned from her mom to her unexpected companion. "Maybe there _are_ things I don't know about Connor, but something I _do_ know is that he's not a nice person. No offense, but I really can't see him ever hanging out with _you_ , Evan Hansen." She grabbed a shirt and jeans from the pile beside her and stormed out of the room, leaving her hurt parents behind her.

Mr Murphy stood stiffly. "I'll go after her, don't worry." He squeezed Evan's tensed shoulder and kissed Cynthia's damp cheek as he passed them, before leaving the room.

The mother took a seat, and gestured for Evan to do the same. He did, making sure not to look at anything but his lap now that he didn't have Zoe to stare at, avoiding seeing a single part of Connor's unnervingly still form. He pressed his hands together as hard as he could just to keep himself from fidgeting violently.

"Zoe, she's... had a really hard time of it with everything Connor's been through. She loves him, he's her big brother, but..." Cynthia shrugged apologetically. "I'm sure she didn't mean a thing. She's just emotional - we _all_ are." Evan nodded, and Cynthia sighed. "Maybe I should go after her too. Give the two of you a minute alone?"

Her gaze was hopeful again, as if the moment she left the room, she expected to look back and see Evan dive onto her son's unconscious form and start begging him to wake up, or something equally cliche. In fact, in the second it took for him to respond, he had decided that she didn't even _want_ to follow Zoe, she only wanted an excuse to witness the two teenagers alone together. Palms increasingly sweaty at the very notion of being watched, he tried to avoid her exit, "I, um, no, you really don't have to..."

"But I should." He heard a kissing sound, presumably as she pecked Connor's hand or head, and then she stood. "Please don't be afraid to speak to him, alright? Just as you normally would."

He made no reply as she passed him and left the room, abandoning him alone with the corpse-like Connor Murphy. The immersive sensation of solitude was something Evan hadn't ever experienced when in the company of another person, and the knowledge that he might as well be completely alone despite the living, breathing boy before him made the total stillness of the room seem eerie.

He unclasped his sweaty hands, and noticed that they were shaking. Being so near to the unconscious teenager who just days ago had been so full of rage and energy was frightening him a bit. The boy had _wanted_ to die, but he _hadn't_ , yet in his current state he couldn't exactly be considered _alive_ either. It seemed like he was suspended halfway between life and death, not all there but not quite gone, an unsolvable enigma.

Curiosity burning, Evan stole a glance at the body, and immediately his breath caught in his throat.

Connor had always been pale, but when Evan looked at his hand his skin seemed to be just about the same colour as the white bedsheets, and almost translucent, ghostly; a needle attached to some kind of drip pierced the top of his hand, but Evan could follow the shadow of the vivid purple vein up past Connor's elbow, to where it disappeared into the hospital robe. His eyes skimmed up over the robe to Connor's face, and he was struck simultaneously with strong feelings of sickness and pity: the ghostly pallour was even more unnerving when it caused the hollows of the teenager's cheeks and eyes to appear grey; he looked almost skeletal. His eyes were closed, but his pale, chapped lips were parted to allow a thin tube inside. Another tube entered his nose, kept in place by tape, and Evan realized that it must be a breathing aid. His curly brown locks looked wet, whether from old grease or fresh sweat he couldn't tell, splayed out against the pillow, framing his face with a darkness that threw his unnaturally pale state into sharper relief.

More than anything, Connor looked small.

It was odd, since he'd towered over Evan when he'd shoved him, and his fear of the boy had transformed him into a great threatening beast in his mind, but actually looking at Connor, passed out and trapped in a coma after having tried to kill himself, he looked so fragile, shorter and skinnier than Evan. Often, his sharp features and overwhelming cynicism made him seem older, but lying in that hospital bed, he didn't even look like his seventeen years.

Pity and nausea battled for dominance, but neither seemed able to win, resulting in Evan feeling sick, guilty and sympathetic at once. He was surprised to feel the burn of unshed tears building in his throat, a burn he didn't know how to ease in any way but giving in. He sobbed just once, feeling stupid for crying over a person he didn't even know, and tried to console himself, _remember, this isn't real, he's not really your friend, it's all just a lie. He doesn't matter to you just like you don't matter to him. He doesn't want you to cry over him._

He was slowly calming himself down, just as he felt a familiar itch at the back of his neck - usually a tell-tale sign that someone was staring at him - not at Connor, at _him_. Probably one of the Murphys, but instead of focusing on their son, they were looking at him. Again he felt a stab of guilt, immediately hating that he'd become object of such keen observation at a time when they should be thinking solely about Connor.

 _What have I done?_

He tried to draw a breath, but it broke into another heavy sob, quickly followed by more. There was no logic about it that could possibly help him to explain why, but he couldn't help but cry, noisy, convulsive sobs shaking his whole body as he wept onto the blankets covering a stranger.

Watching through the window, Cynthia and Larry Murphy completely forgot their daughter's argument: all they saw was a boy struck deeply with grief over Connor. There was no doubt in either mind that, somehow, The small, underwhelming teen had been their son's best friend.

* * *

 **A/N:** **Chapter 2 = through!**

 **I gave Larry some *shock horror* emotional depth here, and will continue to do so because I believe he isn't an inherently bad character, he just struggles to be a good father. That doesn't change how much I love him and all of these problematic characters, they are only human, there's good and bad in everyone and I will be exploring that as this goes on.**

 **That got deep. Aaaanyway.**

 **Basically: I'm not here to hate on any characters, I really appreciate you taking the time to read this, please stay safe and happy and know that you are loved, maybe let me know what you think if you have the time, and the next chapter will be up soon!**

 **Byee!**


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N:** **Hey reader, looks like it's update o'clock! I'm sorry, this would have been up two days ago but I've had such issues with this site not letting me edit the document. But it's here now, and that might be a blessing in disguise as now I have the next two chapters already written. I'm going to try and actually keep a reserve of chapters in case of writer's block!**

 **Chapter warnings include mild infrequent swearing, vague references to drug abuse, and, like the last chapter and a fair few to come, revolves around a failed suicide attempt. Please take care, and don't read on if that's going to have a bad impact on you.**

 **Thanks so so incredibly much for the positive response so far! I hope you enjoy this!**

* * *

 **These Broken Parts - Chapter 3**

Upon waking up on that Friday morning, Evan's first thought was a daring hope that the previous day had been nothing but a bad dream. A single glance at his (uncommonly small, as Jared loved to point out) phone screen dashed his hopes, however, as already a notification told him that he had a new message from Cynthia Murphy.

(She had insisted on them exchanging contact details in case of any changes to Connor's condition, to which he had reluctantly agreed.)

Groaning, he opened the text: the generous mother had extended an invitation for him to pass the day with her family at the hospital once again, assuring him that the school had already been told to expect his absence. He rolled onto his back and groaned in synchronization with the bed springs, pondering whether or not it was too late to come clean, and whether the Murphys would be more thankful for his cruel honesty or kinder lies.

Bitter, he concluded that his supposed _best friend's_ suicide attempt had already been cruel enough to them. _It won't be much longer now, just show up a couple of times, tell them how much their son means to you, give them something better to think about than the fact that he's put himself in a hospital bed. It's not too much of a sacrifice to make to give them a bit of comfort, right?_

For all the simplicity that plan suggested, he wasn't naive enough to think it would all go smoothly; he _knew_ was a social disaster, and he would have found it impossibly difficult to have _anyone_ clinging desperately onto every word he said, let alone the parents of a boy who had tried to kill himself. He could definitely use some advice on sustaining the fragile fantasy, but he didn't feel like explaining the tragic trail of inconvenient coincidences that had lead him to his current situation to anyone. So rather than come completely clean, he sent off a text message to the best liar he knew:

 _"Hey Jared, real quick, how do you make someone believe something that's not true without technically lying to them?"_

He wasn't sure he'd get a response at all, since it wasn't uncommon for the other boy to ignore him completely, but the reply came within seconds of his message being sent:

" _Just nod and confirm, young padawan, works every time. Just don't contradict or make shit up. Tbh literally nothing I tell my parents is tru and they have no idea lol."_

Not thinking much of the speedy response, Evan was just typing a quick thanks when Jared texted again in his usual cynical tone.

 _"Omg what's actually going on tho? I mean I guess you're off somewhere failing miserably at something ofc but wtf u get into? Why weren't u in since tuesday?"_

Dodging the questions, he sent his one-word reply, hoping fervently that Jared would give up trying to find out more. _It's not like he doesn't have plenty of other friends to distract him, right?_

He hauled himself out of bed, pulled on some clean jeans and a polo, and trudged down the stairs, into the kitchen. The counter was almost entirely covered in piles of papers, but at the small area that was clear sat his mom, storming her way through a bowl of cereal while glancing over an open textbook. She looked up when Evan entered, and beamed. Her broad smile didn't hide the shadows under her eyes, or the fact that she wore the same clothes in which she'd left the house the previous morning, both clear signs that she hadn't even made it upstairs to bed by the time she finally came home after class the night before.

Regardless, she was convincingly cheery as she greeted, "Morning, sweetheart! Did you have a good evening? Get up to anything fun?"

"Ha. Um, nothing much, just homework and stuff," he shrugged, making up something she had no reason to believe wasn't true.

"Oh... Well, good! That hard work is exactly what's going to get you into college, you'll see," she reminded him proudly. Tapping the stool beside hers, she added, "Come, sit with me and have something to eat, you can't go to school on an empty stomach." Evan plodded over to join her, and she shoved aside some more precarious piles of notes to make room for another small cereal bowl on the kitchen countertop. "Sorry about all this mess," she sighed, "it's all part of a big assignment for class - well, all of it except for _that_ pile, which is a new set of health and safety assessment forms I need to fill out for work," she explained, indicating a separate set of booklets and sheets. "Anyway, I tried to get a head start on it last night, but I barely made a dent in it." She grimaced, and Evan smiled sympathetically.

"That's really tough."

Her beaming grin returned, and she warmly assured, "I'll get through it. I always do, don't I?" She chuckled, and then suddenly recalled, "Oh, I meant to ask you before I started talking about this mess: when I popped home after work last night to grab my things for class, you weren't in. Is everything alright, where were you?"

Her concern manifested in her creased brow, and Evan felt repulsed at the thought of telling her the truth: _Oh, I was just at the hospital, pretending to mourn at the bedside of the comatose drug addict from my school who tried to kill himself a few days ago to try to make his family feel better about it._ He fought the urge to physically cringe at the mere idea. Instead of the truth, a fib found its way swiftly to the tip of his tongue, "I stayed late at school. There was, uh, a new club that I thought sounded cool, so..." He trailed off, hoping that would be the end of it.

Heidi regarded her son with surprised pleasure as she repeated, "A new club?" Evan nodded, and she chuckled, evidently delighted. "Oh, that's a _great_ way to make friends, meeting people with similar interests! Well done, sweetheart, I can really see how you're putting yourself out there." She looked as though she was considering whether or not to hug him, but an alarm on her phone saved Evan from the inevitably awkward physical contact. "Oops, that's my five minute warning - I didn't realize it was that late, I still need to shower before I can go back into work!"

She stood, abandoning her half-eaten cereal on the counter, and swept out of the room. Moments afterwards, the shower could be heard running upstairs, and around three minutes later, she was back downstairs, freshly clean in a new change of clothes, just grabbing her bag before rushing off to work. She brushed past her son, parting with only a quick kiss to his head, and left, calling behind her, "I'll try and be home on time this evening, Evan. It's Friday, so I know I'm on the late shift, but I thought we could maybe watch a movie? And then I want you to tell me all about that club of yours! Alright, bye, sweetheart!"

"Bye," he responded to the closing door.

Before he had a chance to allow the familiar claws of isolation dig in, his phone vibrated in his pocket. Checking, he saw another message from Cynthia Murphy lighting up the screen, _"I can pick you up from your home and drive you here so you don't have to take the bus?"_

He was just about to start typing a reply when another message came buzzing through, _"I think it would do me some good to be out of the hospital, just for a few minutes. If you don't mind?"_

Evan shook his head, guilt gnawing holes in his gut. He couldn't find it in him to refuse, and though rationality whispered that it was a lose-lose, lie-lie situation, optimism urged that going along with it was by far the kinder course. He punched in a rapid text accepting her offer and sending her his address, and half-heartedly resumed his bowl of cereal. The cornflakes had become soggy in the time he'd taken to question the morality of his actions, and he had to force himself to swallow, feeling more like he wanted to throw up with every mouthful. But then, that wasn't necessarily because of the unappetizing breakfast.

It seemed to be only seconds later that the doorbell rang. Ordinarily he would loiter in the kitchen or his bedroom, the rooms furthest from the front door, when somebody knocked or rang, waiting for them to leave, but when yet another text from Cynthia Murphy came through to inform him that she was there, he knew he had to open up. Not bothering to take his bag when he knew he'd have no use for school books that day, he only grabbed his keys before opening the door to Connor and Zoe's mom.

Cynthia Murphy still looked exhausted, but her makeup had remained in tact since she had applied it fresh that morning, for the first time since seeing her son passed out on his bedroom floor a few days ago. Stiffness clung to her every muscle, but she managed a tense smile as she greeted, "Good morning, Evan. Are you ready?"

Evan nodded, and followed as she made her way to the same car Larry had driven him in the day before. He opened the passenger door and buckled in before he noticed the two drinks in the cup holders. Mrs Murphy evidently remembered them at the same time Evan spotted them, and explained, "I was going to get something for breakfast on the way, until I realized I wasn't really hungry, but I was already in the drive-through line, so I thought I'd just get us a drink. Citrus crush ice refresher alright with you? Don't worry, I checked, it's definitely vegan," she added when the boy hesitated.

It was the last thing his churning stomach wanted, but Evan was sweltering under the warmth of Cynthia's hopeful look. He dredged up an expression which he hoped looked like gratitude, and accepted his fate, reaching towards the drink that didn't already have a third of it missing.

At first, he didn't understand what could have happened to make the woman gasp. But then her fingers were tracing the lettering on his otherwise blank cast, and it became clear.

He watched with horror as her eyes welled with the first tears of the day. Cursing mentally and despising how ironically convenient Connor's one small act of kindness had just become, he started to ramble, trying to excuse the writing on his arm, "Oh, yeah, that's just, uh, I didn't mean - I mean, you weren't meant to, uh, well I kinda forgot about that but it's just one thing and it doesn't -"

"Connor wrote this?"

It ought to have been obvious that, yes, the name _Connor_ on his cast came from none other than the only person named Connor that Evan knew, but she still felt compelled to ask. It was, oddly enough, the first thing about Evan and Connor's supposed friendship that she couldn't automatically believe, yet it was the sole thing truly constituting friendliness that had ever passed between them.

Evan swallowed, and nodded.

Mrs Murphy smiled, and a single tear escaped, but she wiped it aside, her happiness winning out. She couldn't look at the boy beside her, else relief might have overwhelmed her when she murmured, awestruck, "His best and most dearest friend."

Evan could do nothing but sip on his drink and wish it would give him a fatal case of brainfreeze.

* * *

Larry Murphy was waiting outside Connor's room when they arrived at the hospital, Cynthia having composed herself on the journey but still glancing now and then at Evan's plastered arm. Something Evan had noticed the previous day was that the father, despite being just that, never sat alone with Connor. He would enter the private room if his wife, daughter, or even Evan, was already in there, but he made sure never to be alone with his son.

 _Maybe he's afraid of being the only one there when Connor wakes up,_ Evan pondered, before promptly deciding that was ridiculous and that no father would be afraid of his own child. _Then again, no father should_ leave _their own child, but it happens... No, just stop, you're definitely overthinking, it's none of your business why Connor's dad doesn't want to be alone in there anyway and it's_ definitely _nothing to do with your own issues with paternal abandonment, you don't know him, you don't know_ either _of them, so don't judge._

While he'd been busily in conversation with the voices in his head, the couple had been talking. "So, um, was there any news?" Evan asked, knowing how strange it would look if he didn't ask, but rubbing his palms against the rough material of his polo shirt nervously.

Larry shook his head, grimacing sympathetically. "Nothing new except the withdrawal symptoms from the drugs he's been taking are kicking in now that the medication from surgery has worn off. Fluctuating temperature, sweating, nothing they couldn't reduce by upping his pain relief. He's still on the ventilator, still wired up to fluids and nutrients, still showing no signs of being close to waking up."

"But you remember what the doctors said yesterday, right?" Cynthia nudged his shoulder, (she'd given him so many gentle, maternal sorts of touches like that within the past twenty-four hours that he'd become quite accustomed to not flinching away too ferociously) clearly misinterpreting his disappointment, and quoted almost word-for-word, "Every case is different, but with situations like Connor's, where there's no direct head trauma, the pattern suggests it's often only a few days."

 _I really hope so_. "Yeah. Not much longer, then, I guess." He shrugged, glancing through the window to where Connor lay, exactly as he had been the day before. Pity crashed down on him, and he found himself becoming choked up as he added, "hopefully, anyway." He also remembered what _else_ the doctor had said _: Really there's no way to tell when, or if, someone will come out of a coma, it's never black and white._

It was the _or if_ that really sent chills through him; the alternative, the _if not,_ didn't bear thinking about.

A tense quietness settled on the trio. It was Mr Murphy that broke it with a false cough, and gruff suggestion, "Shall we go in?"

He lead the way while the others followed, and it became apparent to Evan that, despite his reservations about being in there alone with the comatose boy, Larry Murphy genuinely did want to be near him. It didn't make him any easier of a puzzle to crack, but it _did_ make Evan sympathise further with the man, no matter how emotionally repressed he seemed determined to be.

It was only when he'd been in there for half an hour, and it seemed unmistakably obvious that the absence in the room was not going to be filled any time soon, that Evan mustered up the courage to ask, "Where's Zoe?"

The parents exchanged a look. Larry answered, "She wanted to go to school. She knows there's nothing she can do here, and she'd rather be distracted from this mess than spend all day staring at it." The shadow of frustration in his blue eyes indicated he, like Zoe, would gladly be distracted from the terrible sight of his son lying unconscious in a hospital bed, if only he wasn't so afraid of what might happen in his absence.

His reply, however, grated on his wife, who quietly responded through gritted teeth, "Please don't refer to our son as _it_ , Larry. The only reason he's a _mess_ is because of us."

Rising to the quarrel, Larry retorted, "That's _not_ what I said. Besides, _we_ weren't the ones to get him hooked on drugs, which probably started all of his other issues - _he_ did that all himself."

"Do you want to be here or not?" Cynthia challenged, turning on him, her arched eyebrow a clear invitation for him to leave.

He slumped back into the chair, irritation dissipating like mist. "I do," he mumbled, and fell into silence.

"Good." Cynthia nodded, satisfied, and faced Evan, smiling brightly as she repeated with more conviction, "Good. Zoe may not want to be here, but _we_ will be, all of us, for as long as it takes." She stroked a hand across Connor's forehead and through his curls, softly repeating to the teenager, "We're right here, Con-Con. Me, dad, and," her gaze returned again to Evan's cast, "your best and most dearest friend. We found your letter, sweetheart, we see things now we didn't see before. Things will be better, Connor, when you wake up we will _make_ things better."

 _Right, things will be better because that note tells them exactly what they need to fix about Connor's life._ Your _note, not his;_ your _life, not his. What if he wakes up and they can't help at all, you've lied to them, you'relyingyou'relyingyou'relying -_ "Yeah. Things will... it'll get better, uh, bud...dy." Evan cringed at his attempt to join in the little pep-talk: It looked like he was even worse at giving them to other people than he was at writing them as letters to himself.

To his surprise, Larry and Cynthia both chuckled, causing him to turn a vibrant shade of red. _Oh God, I've messed up, haven't I?_ He felt both pairs of eyes on him, and, out of sight, his fingernails began digging one by one into the tips of his thumbs. His nerves hardly eased when Mrs Murphy empathised, "It's hard, isn't it, talking to him when he's like this. But it's the _trying_ that counts." Evan was sure that was another sly jibe aimed at her husband, but didn't dare question it. "It's nice, though, to hear a friend talking to Connor like that. You know, even just hearing familiar voices could help him, so if you can't talk _to_ him, just _talking_ is good." The way she looked at him made Evan certain that she expected him to launch into some kind of speech, but he could _never_ talk at length without more direct prompting, and he panicked at the idea of having to find some complex topic to discuss for the sake of making sure Connor had voices to listen to. He didn't reply, leaving Cynthia to tentatively suggest, "You and Connor... Could you tell us a bit about your friendship, maybe?"

Evan hesitated, the screen of his mobile phone flashing across his mind baring Jared's text message from earlier that morning, _Just nod and confirm, young padawan, works every time. Just don't contradict or make shit up_. Despite the source, it seemed pretty solid advice, words of wisdom he didn't want to stray from if he could help it. And he was fairly confident that going off on some random ramble about the details of his and Connor's fabled friendship fell squarely into the _making shit up_ category.

 _Just nod and confirm, right? Get something to confirm, then._ "Ok, um... what, uh, what do you want to know?"

Seemingly losing confidence, Cynthia asked, "Well, did you two - I mean, you _must_ have done - you two hung out a lot, right?"

"Yes, yeah," Evan replied, relieved. "We hung out loads." Spotting Mr Murphy frown, he hurried to add, "Never really very much at _your_ house, though, or you would have seen me before, obviously. It was, uh, mostly at my house? Yeah, my mum's out a lot, so it was just easier... like that?" _Not bad, Not bad._

"Easier how?" Larry asked, perturbed. Evan couldn't blame him: It sounded undeniably suspect that the two teenagers had apparently made a conscious effort to avoid being around either of their families, even to the very boy who was making it up.

It wasn't a query he could dance around without making it look even more suspicious. Reaching for something that made relative sense (which should have been comparatively easy as the whole situation was so bizarre), he stuttered, "It was j-just, uh, you know, just easier because C-Connor didn't -" _If you can't nod and confirm, at least use what you know... Okay, Connor tried to kill himself without even writing his own note._ "- He didn't like many people. I mean, he didn't like being around other people much, so..."

"That makes sense," Cynthia nodded, sombre as she took Connor's limp hand into hers. The black nail varnish was peeling at the edges.

Evan was too busy being relieved that his story was accepted to feel too bad about drawing the grieving parents in so completely.

"But he still spent time with you? Zoe's always told us that Connor never really hung out with anyone in school. And she said, uh," he looked uncomfortable, mentioning an utmost taboo, "she saw him _shove_ you?" Larry didn't seem dubious, just surprised.

"Well uh, yeah, no, he didn't... hang out with me at school." The parents exchanged another puzzled look, and Evan rapidly expounded, "We're still best friends, but he, uh, before this he didn't want other people to know we were friends... I guess he's embarrassed, a little? I mean, that's why he pushed me, I think, it was all me, trying to talk to him when he didn't want me to when people could see." _Oh wow, that's_ really _convincing_ , his internal voice berated him, sarcastic and biting. His own mind was by far the harshest critic he had ever encountered. With a laugh he hoped would be nonchalant but ended up as more self-depreciating, he justified, "It's not _his_ fault, I'm just a bit of a loser, you know."

 _Huh. That's the first time I've told them something completely true._

Cynthia's amused expression held genuine fondness as she insisted, "I'm sure that's not the truth, and he should _never_ have pushed you. Connor should be proud to have a friend like you."

The compliment warmed Evan's chest, regardless of the lies upon which it was built. However, yet again Larry interjected, "If he never spoke to you at school, then how have you stayed in contact with him? Since he came back from rehab, he's been spending most of his time in his room."

"Um, yeah... Th-that's true," Evan agreed, speaking slowly but nodding rapidly, recalling the advice from the text message again. "He spends loads of time inside nowadays, so I guess we haven't really see each other much since rehab."

Cynthia's face fell, and Evan saw the flame of enduring hope shrink until it was almost extinguished. Guilt seized him, and he could see the acute disappointment weighing down her slumping shoulders as she reluctantly checked, "So, you mean that for the past eight months, you've not really... been friends?"

"No!" Evan quickly contradicted her, before recalling that he was also directly contradicting himself. _Fuck, I'm an idiot, I should have guessed this was just too hard._ Frantically trying to adjust his story, he amended, "I mean, we, uh, we didn't really speak much face to face, but... we e-mailed a lot, though? I mean mostly, that was mostly what we did since he went to rehab. All the time, we stayed really close even though he didn't always want to hang out in person." Hands still out of sight, he crossed his fingers.

"E-mails?" Larry checked, "Are you sure, I've been monitoring all that for a while now and I'm sure I never saw anything from you."

 _Monitoring his son's e-mails? If that's the kind of privacy invasion he has to deal with, it's almost no wonder Connor didn't write a note._ Evan tried not to allow his surprise and disapproval to register on his face. Instead, a convenient lie came fast to his lips, "Well, that's probably because he has a different account. You know, I mean he really likes his privacy so it just seemed better to him to have a secret e-mail account. Yeah," his quick reply was punctuated by a sharp nod. He dared to hope, _I think that story seems just about okay. A little far-fetched, but by no means unfeasible_.

"I see," Cynthia mused, and as much as she'd been engaged in Evan's tale, she transformed seamlessly into the doting mother, every ounce of her attention focused on her son as she softly chuckled to him, "Well, you're just full of surprises, aren't you, my sweetheart. I promise, when you're back with us, you won't have to keep all of these things secret any more. We want to _know_ you, Con-Con, and I promise we'll do better."

"Ahem," Larry coughed, evidently uncomfortable when his wife resumed pursuing what he viewed as nothing more than an empty delusion. "Right," he began, filling the room with meaningless words purely to put a stop to Cynthia's one-sided conversation with Connor. "So, Evan... these e-mails, huh? That's different. I guess it goes to show what you can do with the internet, right? It's pretty incredible, how months of a friendship can just be preserved in a chain of e-mails going back and forth. So impressive what you can do these days, don't you think?"

It struck Evan as weird, forced and unfamiliar, but then he remembered that _he_ must come across like that _whenever_ he tried to talk to someone, so really Larry's tense, meaningless chat wasn't all that bad. At least he sensed that this forced small talk wasn't intended to test him, but to fill the room with sounds other than that of machines preserving a young life, or the heartbreaking promises of a desperate mom. With a nervous chuckle, he humoured the man, "Ha, yeah, I guess it really is kind of cool."

He didn't miss the flash of gratitude passing over Larry's tense face, and he seemed to relax into the chair a bit. For the first time, Evan felt a genuine connection to Connor's dad as the man thankfully continued, "Technology has honestly come so far. I mean, I suppose you can't really appreciate it, since your generation grew up with all this crazy stuff, but when I was a kid - oh, I could tell you stories about _those_ days - if we wanted to talk from far away, it was a case of the old two-cans-on-a-piece-of-string thing, but now you kids are using e-mails, and -"

"E-mails," Cynthia spoke slowly, gradually coming to a realization. With a sinking feeling, Evan realized he knew exactly what she was about to ask.

"Uh, excuse me," he declared, standing up suddenly. "I have to, uh, go to the bathroom."

The frightened teenager fled from the room without another word of explanation, not giving the woman a chance to finish asking what he knew had been coming. Despite not actually needing to go, he _did_ race through three corridors and down a flight of stairs to the closest toilet, entered a cubicle, and slammed the door shut, only drawing his first breath since the initial dread had sunk in when it was firmly locked. He didn't sit, but dug a frantic, clumsy hand into his jean pocket, pulled out his phone, and, shaking, typed in the contact name of the only person who could possibly help him.

The sharp but wonderfully familiar voice answered before the first ring had ended:

"Alright, acorn boy, you'd better be calling to explain exactly what the fuck is going on."

* * *

 **A/N:** **Firstly, I will confess that writing text messages is something I despise, sorry about that. But hey, THE INSANELY COOL JARED KLEINMAN is a big star of chapter five. And don't you fret, my beloved Alana will soon get her chance to shine too.**

 **For now though, thanks for reading, do take care of yourself, and maybe let me know what you think. Byeee!**


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N:** **A'ight peeps, how we doing? Sorry this one took a bit longer than I wanted again, this site has still not got it together with the whole editing-and-saving malarkey, but the good news is I just figured out a way around that. So here we are, and ding dong it's Jared o'clock! (I'm trying to give him emotional depth, and desperately hoping I'm not getting too ooc in doing so. Please don't hesitate to tell me any change that might make this portrayal better!)**

 **The only warning is for swearing - nothing too awful but there's a fair bit, proceed with caution. (Also, inspired by the arena stage boot, Jared makes one (1) joke about having a crush on Heidi. It's cringe, but I love that boot so I wanted a piece of it.)**

 **Anyways, I hope you enjoy this chapter!**

* * *

 **These Broken Parts - Chapter 4**

Even huddled into the corner of a small, locked toilet cubicle, Evan felt frighteningly exposed as he muttered quickly, "Jared, I need your help."

"So _now_ you bother to contact me, after abandoning me for days with no explanation?"

"W-what? No, I didn't, I mean _how_ could I even - No, just listen, I _really_ need your help." He hoped that, regardless of his confusion at Jared's accusation, the urgency with which he responded would at the very least intrigue the other teenager into paying attention for a few moments.

From the other end of the phone call, Jared Kleinman laughed, before taunting, "Yeah, you don't say. You're in deep, bro." The humour fell out of his tone, and if Evan hadn't known better he would have guessed his family-friend was genuinely concerned as he pressed, "Seriously man, what the hell have you gone and gotten into? This whole deal with Connor is weird enough, but throwing _you_ into the mix is just, well, ridiculous."

"Yeah, I know, it's totally -" Evan was glad of finally having a confidant, but his confusion interrupted his outburst of relief. "Wait, how do you know about Connor?"

Jared sighed, and the biting snarkiness was back, heavily lacing his every word, "Uh, _Zoe's_ back in school, dum-dum. I don't know if she's actually _telling_ people as a rule, but she must have said _something_ about it, because the whole school knows about how Connor tried to off himself. Oh, speaking of," he became casually chatty as he queried, "do you know how he actually tried to do it? I've heard a couple different things and it's kinda hard to sort out the truth since Zoe completely clammed up as soon as news got out, so was it an overdose or -"

" _Jared_!" Indignant, Evan cut across his question.

Unimpressed, Jared resumed his critical analysis of the situation. "Okay, sorry for being _interested_ , I guess you only care about the gossip. Well, yeah, people are making random guesses about how he did it but no one knows anything for sure, so thanks _so_ much for not letting me be the one to confirm the details; also it's like some massive scandal that Zoe's back in school while he brother's in hospital, that weird little cluster of girls two years below keeps bugging her about it - you know, the ones who are kinda emo and kinda goth but can't really commit to either. And _everyone_ knows that you're there buddying up to his parents and pretending to be his friend or something - _that's_ the bit I'm not buying, by the way, there's no chance that you and Murphy are _actually_ besties." He paused, expecting an immediate confirmation and completely oblivious to the tears rolling silently down the other teenager's face. "I'm right, right?" He urged, "You don't actually have friends, neither of you do."

"Yeah." Evan wiped his cheek with the scratchy fabric of his cast and swallowed most of the tightness of his throat before confirming, "'course, y-you're right. It's not... It's really not true at all."

"Okay," Jared went on, sounding a bizzare mixture of bored and curious, "So then why are you there?"

"It's, uh, it's really complicated, actually," Evan murmured, "I guess it started on Tuesday -"

"Oh, _please_ tell me the whole story in explicit detail. It's not like morning break ends in five minutes or anything," Jared interrupted, patronizingly slow to mock his almost-friend. "Seriously bro, if you need my help you've gotta get to the point - I'm in high demand."

Evan heard the request, but it wasn't the easiest to follow, not when he'd kept everything that had happened since Connor shoved him over that Tuesday morning to himself alone, and it all seemed suddenly relevant. Keeping the same amount of detail, he only tried to pick up the pace, cramming his entire explanation into a single breath, "Okay so basically it started on Tuesday, I was in the computer lab writing a letter - it's this dumb assignment I'm meant to do, just... write a letter to, uh, myself - but Connor was there a-and he took the letter when I printed it out, and I guess he tried to k - well, you know, do _that_ \- with the letter still in his pocket, addressed to me, so then, uh, his parents thought it was a suicide note, and that I must be close to him if he wrote it to me, and -" he inhaled sharply, taking his first pause to breathe. Eyes prickling with pity, he mumbled, "They were so sad, but so hopeful, they just _needed_ it to be true, they want to believe Connor has someone he cares about enough to bother writing a note, and they were just completely desperate, so..."

The silence stretched out, undisturbed.

"Uh," Evan coughed, uncertain. "Jared, are you still there?"

The silence was so heavy that Evan could hear his own eyelashes brushing together as he blinked, waiting for _something_ , _anything_ , from the other teenager.

"Holy shit."

 _Something like that, obviously._ A bubble of nervous, manic laughter escaped, and he agreed, "Yeah, I know."

"Holy. Fucking. Shit."

"I know, I know, it's completely crazy," Evan nodded vigorously though Jared couldn't see it, and as he continued to speak he became increasingly hysterical, "I never even meant to go along with it, honestly I d-didn't want to, but I was sitting there with Connor's dad and just, I j-just didn't say _anything_ , I _couldn't_ say anything, I didn't know how to let him down and now I'm in the hospital bathroom freaking out because - oh my _God_ \- I may have just made up a whole load of total _crap_ about this fake friendship and, Jared, _Jared_ I need your help and I really just want this to be over with before it gets worse but -"

"Okay, bro, just breathe," Jared admonished, rather too sternly to be considered an act of compassion. He had the sense to refrain from teasing him outright, but laughter still found it's way into his words as he carried on, " _Damn_. Look, if _you_ start crying then _I'm_ gonna start crying, and _you're_ gonna start crying even harder and, well, then we're _both_ gonna be fucked up and that won't help _anyone_." He inhaled loudly, and Evan took it as an invitation to mimic him, pulling the air into his chest despite the pounding sensation that made him feel certain that any attempt to breathe in would be rejected by his panicking heart. "Okay."

Jared seemed to be saying _okay_ quite a bit, and it stood out as unusual primarily because it wasn't in his normal, _disinterestedly-pre_ _tending-to-listen-for-the-sake-of-my-car-insurance_ tone. In his state, Evan didn't have the capacity to believe that Jared was trying to calm his own budding unease as well as Evan's, but he was; Despite his constant jibes and convincing performance of relative indifference, it rattled him to hear his not-quite-friend so jittery, especially when it seemed that for once Evan's nerves were absolutely justified.

"He - _oh God,_ " Evan's brain suddenly felt like it was swimming around in circles inside his skull, but he stayed standing, back firmly wedged into the corner. "He signed my cast. Before he took the letter, h-he signed it, with these huge massive letters, and I _swear_ I didn't try to use it on the Murphys, but they saw it, and it just -" terror was creeping slowly into his words again as he rubbed his thumping head, "it makes this lie seem so _real_."

"Right," Jared continued slowly, analytically, checking not just the logic behind every word, but also the tone and emotional investment he conveyed to the boy he was determined to display a cool, collected image to. "That's problematic, but maybe not _technically_ your fault, so let's call it a circumstantial assumption. But this _letter_... A letter to _yourself_ , like what the crap does that even mean?" Evan began to speak, but he cut across him, "No, wait, I don't even care. Knowing you, it's got to be something overly creepy anyway. So it made it seem like you and Murphy are close, and you didn't correct his family. Hey -" again, his attempt to be serious was shattered, and he became obnoxiously teasing as he asked, "You have this weird self-written-letter fetish, so does that mean it was, like... _sexual_? As in, his parents are keeping you around because they think you and Connor have a ' _special relationship_ '?" The suggestive eyebrow movements were practically palpable even through the distance of the phone call.

"What? No, obviously! Can we just focus?" Evan was in no mood to withstand Jared's childish taunting, not when he was digging the fingers of his free hand into the unyielding plastic walls of the cubicle so hard that his knuckles ached because he just needed something to hold onto.

"Whatever," Jared dropped it, and resumed, "Anyway. So you kinda lied to the Murphys."

"Yeah."

"And now you're in deep shit."

"Uh huh."

"So? What are you gonna tell them?"

 _Because I'd be telling you all of this if I had the answers?_ "Um," Evan paused, debating for the millionth time what would be the morally better choice. "I guess... I should t-tell them the truth, maybe?" _Hard as that might be, for me and for them, if I keep on trying to pretend, it's just going to become so complicated._

"Uh, _no_ , genius, you don't just go and tell them the _truth_ \- you said, they _need_ this. And _I_ need a guy on the inside," he chuckled, trying to ease the tension as soon as he felt it begin to set. "If you _will_ go ditching me to hang out with an unconscious stoner you can at least pay me back with info." Evan didn't reply, and Jared didn't force it. "I _meant_ , what are you going to tell them about how you and Connor _miraculously_ became friends despite clearly never spending any time at all with him? I mean, obviously avoid it if you can, but there's a good chance it will come up, especially if Queen Cynic learns to show any -"

"Don't call her that, she seems like a really nice person most of the time. I'm sure Zoe has her reasons for staying away, and she's not exactly _wrong_ to doubt mine and Connor's friendship, is she?"

"...You're adorable. Yeah, so if it comes up, you need a decent cover story, nothing too fancy but something really convincing, and more importantly, something that's easy to sweep under the carpet when Connor wakes up. No 'I used to climb in through his bedroom window and we'd have sleepovers and look at the stars,' right, or any dumb romantic shit like that, because then when Connor's let out, his parents will be looking out for it and it won't be there. Hmm," Jared hummed, considering possible options, "Maybe you only ever met up in the school bathrooms, you know, just to..." His sly smirk was audible in his words, "talk... and obviously suck each other's -"

"Ah, shit," Evan's exasperated cuss cut Jared off, and, completely ignoring the inappropriate direction his family friend was trying to drive the conversation in, he reluctantly admitted, "I-I sort of already gave them a cover story. Just now, actually."

A faint groaning came through the phone, and Evan could picture Jared's head lolling back against a wall as he grew steadily more frustrated at the way the path the other teen was talking him through became so much more twisted. The school bell rang somewhere in the distance, but neither teen spared it any attention. "...Okay. Well obviously it's not _brilliant_ because you're crying to _me_ about it, but go on..."

Evan shut his eyes and pressed his lips together, loathing his own stupidity. His moist fingertips whined against the walls as he sank down to into a crouch, perilously close to a grim puddle of suspicious liquid, finally giving up trying to remain upright; the stress was causing his head to spin, and he couldn't stand it - couldn't _stand_ at all - a second longer. "I, uh," he didn't even want to tell Jared, he was so ashamed of coming up with a backstory which ought to have so much retrievable evidence. No matter his hesitation, he managed to admit, painfully quietly, "I told them we wrote e-mails."

"E-mails," Jared repeated, mulling it over. _"E-mails?"_

"Yeah, I -" Evan wiped his free hand on his jeans then gripped tight to the fabric, "I _tried_ to just say we hung out at mine when no one else was there, but they told me Connor's been really introverted ever since he went to rehab, so I told them that since then, we wrote e-mails to each other all the time."

"E-mails," Jared sighed again, and neither his repetition nor his sigh did anything to ease Evan's shredded nerves. He sounded like he didn't know whether to laugh or cry when he observantly noted, "These people have a son in a coma and now believe you have a large set of e-mails written by him. You do realize they're _probably_ gonna want to see, right?"

"I know." Evan's speech matched the pace of his racing heart, and had Jared not been fairly accustomed to deciphering it, Evan's spiel would have been nothing but garbled, unintelligible nonsense, "I know, they're going to want to see our e-mails, Mrs Murphy was literally just about to ask before I ran here, yeah I literally _ran away_ from her because I don't know what to say, I can't just tell her _no_ because she's Connor's mom but obviously I can't tell her _yes_ because they don't exist, and I don't know what to do and that's the whole reason I called you because I have no-one else to talk to about this and I don't even know if you can help but if you can't then I don't know how I can ever leave this bathroom because I literally can't stand to let them down, please Jared, do you have anything at all that might make this better?" He stuffed a hand to his mouth, trying not to think about the probability of picking up public toilet germs - no, _sick person_ public toilet germs - as he stifled a sob. Only a strange gulping sound made it out of his throat, but a trail of teardrops seeped from his burning eyes, and he thanked his stars that, no matter the cruel path fate had selected for him, at least his off-brand mobile phone didn't allow Jared to see him while they were talking.

"Hey, uh," Jared sounded unperturbed as he suggested, " _I_ could do e-mails."

"How?"

"It's easy," Jared insisted, relaxing back into his regular confident facade. "At least, it _is_ if you're as talented as I am. You've just got to set up a fake e-mail account, backdate e-mails, and you're solid."

"And you," Evan sniffed, pulling out some toilet paper to wipe his nose and face with, " _You_ know how to do that?"

Jared actually snorted, raising a chuckle from Evan. "You do realize you're speaking to the only kid who had access to the camp computers over this summer, right? I have skills, son."

"And you'd help me like that?" Evan clarified, not quite believing that Jared would come to his rescue so easily. Since the time he'd cried in front of the class during show and tell in fifth grade, Jared had unfailingly insisted that they were only ever going to be _"family friends,"_ nothing more, and to pledge his assistance in helping to save him from what promised to be a literal shitstorm just didn't seem characteristic of the boy who openly loved to mock every mistake Evan ever made.

Jared's instinctive response was out in the open before even his careful mind could filter out the honesty, "Sure, of course." A slight choking sound, quickly disguised as a cough, followed, and to ensure that Evan didn't get the wrong idea about Jared having actual goodwill towards him, he added with convincing mischief, "For two thousand dollars."

"What the -"

"Fine, you've twisted my arm, five hundred."

"I can give you, like," Evan thought back to the notes his Mom had left out for him to order himself some dinner a few nights ago, "twenty?"

"Fine," Jared sighed, not so much disappointed as relieved that he'd clearly done well in making Evan believe he was doing it for his own benefit rather than out of the goodness of his heart, "But you're a dick."

Evan actually laughed, for once, at Jared's teasing. He was so grateful that any shred of resentment he might have felt in different circumstances was snuffed out. "Okay. So, uh, when..." His smile faltered slightly as he asked, "when's going to be a good time for you? I don't want to rush you, it's just I don't want to tell the Murphys that I don't know when I'm going to have some e-mails for them, you know?"

"Chillax, bro," Jared replied, "it's cool, you can just come over after school, we'll start then."

"Huh?" Yet again, Evan was caught off-guard. "You want me to... come over? To your house, where you live?" The last time he had seen the inside of the Kleinman household, it had been during their annual New Year's Eve celebration three years ago, which he and his Mom were always invited to, but after deciding he couldn't stomach the crowds and spending almost the entire night sobbing on the doorstep, he and Heidi had never gone to another of their famous parties. Even then, it had been Jared's Moms' choice to invite him, not Jared himself, and if it hadn't been for all the chaos of the past few days, this invitation would have been the absolute most unexpected thing to have happened to him in years.

"Duh, that's what I said," Jared shot back, humour in his voice. "What, you thought you'd get away with not helping? I can't exactly pretend to be Connor if you're not here filling me in on all the weird shit you've made up about him already, can I? No, you've got to be here."

"I, uh... Okay," Evan agreed, slowly finding it within him to stand up slowly. His head seemed to be perfectly stationary now rather than spinning like a tornado. "So... Okay."

"Dude, _seriously_ , chill out, it's not a big deal. You just go out there and play nice with the Murphys, tell them you'll print off some e-mails when you go home tonight. Then you can come round when I'm home from school. I'm sure my moms will be pleased to see you, anyway." Evan didn't reply, still fairly fazed by how unpredictably cooperative Jared was being. "Evan?" His voice hardened, trying to wake him up from whatever daze he'd fallen into. "I've gotta go, but I'll see you later, alright?"

"A-alright."

" _Okay_ ," Jared sighed, still slightly uneasy since it seemed Evan was, even now, far more anxious even than his permanently jumpy self always was.

"Okay."

"Okay. Well, bye."

The line went dead, and Evan's hand dropped. He fumbled, not looking, to find the opening to his pocket, and put it away. It took a few moments of internally reassuring himself that things would be fine before he could open the cubicle door.

He headed straight to the sink and turned the cold tap on full blast, and shoved his hands under the faucet until the icy chill of the water had seeped down to his bones. Then he splashed his reddened face, turned off the tap, and stared hard at his dripping reflection.

The boy in the mirror looked terrified. Evan tried to smile reassuringly at him, but the responding change from his reflection could only be called a grimace at best.

 _It's okay, it's going to be okay, it's being sorted_. Evan swallowed his nerves, and firmly told his poor, anxious reflection, "It's in hand. Just... play nice."

All he had to do was survive another four hours with Connor's parents without making up anything else too farfetched to stand a chance at backing up.

And as it turned out, Evan was actually settling in to the habit of being a liar who could corroborate his stories.

* * *

Throughout that night, Evan battled Jared's teasing quips and increasing boredom, and his own tiredness, until they had a conversation totalling forty e-mails, some short, some much longer, backdated to cover the period of time between Connor Murphy apparently being released from the rehabilitation centre he'd stayed at and the week before he tried to end his life.

It still didn't feel like enough, which was why Evan kept insisting on adding just a few more every time the other teenager complained of his disinterest or the lateness of the hour, but when it reached quarter to midnight, Jared drew the line.

"You know, I get it. Kinda. Not really, but you're good at pretending, so just _imagine_ I get it: You feel bad for telling such a massive lie, as you probably _should_ , but we can call it a night, right? I mean, you don't even have to show the Murphys that many messages, just a handful will be enough for now." He was almost too tired to tease, but he added with a spark of sarcasm, "Unless you _want_ them to read all these at once and realize they don't make sense."

He made a valid point - there were gaps in the timings, whole periods where they appeared to have had no contact at all, and there were a few occasions where the time stamps of messages seemed to have been sent in non-chronological order. Jared was correct about not being able to show them everything of the falsified exchange at the same time. If he took just four or five whenever the Murphys asked, it was possible that the forty they had written so far would last until the boy woke up. And yet, Evan's anxiety was going into overdrive, and he couldn't help but fret, "What if we run out and need more?"

Jared snorted with amusement. "Wow, you're really not much of a problem solver, are you? If you _run out_ , you can _come back_ and we'll _write some more._ " His words were slow and patronizing, and on another occasion they would have caused Evan to feel such intense self-doubt that he'd wrap up their talk and walk away as soon as humanly possible without coming across too impolite.

However, comparing Jared's criticism to the possibility of having to come clean to the Murphys and hurting them so deeply before their son had even regained consciousness made one pale to insignificance compared to the other. His soft features hardened with resolve to make sure the e-mails didn't let him down.

Jared sighed, shaking his head bemusedly. "Jesus fucking Christ. What, you wanna set a date to keep writing them? Fine, okay, let's say... Tuesday. Would that be good for you? Will you go home now?" He had plucked the day out of thin air, but that didn't change his eagerness to have Evan agree to it and leave. Much as he feigned indifference, the whole deal with the fake e-mails was making him feel bad for his family friend; it became clearer with every ridiculous suggestion he made that Evan had no idea what a normal friendship was like, and though he took some pleasure in taunting him for it, he couldn't deny the voice in his head that reminded him that he was partially responsible for the other boy's isolation.

In short, he needed a break before he, too, was ruined by self-doubt.

"I..." Evan considered it. The compromise was surely as close as he would get to resolving his qualms, so he grudgingly agreed, "I guess, uh, yeah, fine. So, Tuesday?"

Rolling his eyes, Jared replied, " _Yes_ , Tuesday. Now don't you have to get home to your Mom?"

Casting his mind to the timetable stuck to their fridge, Evan recalled, "She works the late shift every other Friday."

"Yeah, the late shift which ends at half eleven. My Mom does as well, and _she'll_ be home any minute, which means _yours_ will too." Knowing something that never failed to repulse his companion, Jared pushed every ounce of innuendo he could muster into his next words, "Unless you think it's _me_ she's waiting up for? You know, I'd _love_ to get a little closer to her, have some private time just her and me, and whatever happens, happens." He winked mischievously, and burst out laughing when Evan visibly shuddered in disgust.

Before he could respond, there came the sound of the door opening, and, as predicted by her son, Penny-Louise Kleinman entered the household. "Sounds like someone's having fun," she called up the stairs, and began to make her way to the bedroom in which the boys sat, Jared mostly enveloped in his large, squishy computer chair and Evan perched awkwardly on the edge of the bed beside the box of pizza crusts and the dipping sauce neither of them liked, the only leftovers from the takeaway the promised twenty dollars had paid for.

"That's because Jared invited Evan over for the first time in forever. They've been up there all night!" Jared's other mom, Carmel Kleinman, called from the sitting room.

So it was with a large smile ( _very appropriate for the woman who's been best friends with my Mom since she was in school,_ Evan decided) that Penny-Lou opened the bedroom door to greet, "Look at you boys, I've not seen you together in the longest time! Evan, sweetie, it's been too long - you _must_ come around more often." She shot Jared a meaningful look, the kind which, to Evan, communicated, _you_ will _invite Heidi's poor helpless child around again or I'll revoke your car insurance._

Evan forced an awkward laugh from his suddenly tight throat. "Ha, uh, thanks, Mrs Kleinman, uh, y-yeah, that would be... Uh..." He glanced to Jared, hoping that his previous urgency to make him leave would still apply enough for the other boy to make an excuse on his behalf.

Fortunately, Jared was willing to play along. "Evan's coming over on Tuesday, I guess you can catch up then. But he was just saying he should be leaving, so..." He raised an eyebrow at Evan.

The marginally taller boy jumped up, nodding rapidly as he agreed, "Yeah, that's right, my Mom's shift just finished - I mean, obviously you, uh, you would know, since you work with her, but -" he grimaced, his nails pressing into his palms as his hands balled up into fists and he shuffled his weight from foot to foot. "- Yeah, s-she's alone, so I should go home."

"Okay," Mrs Kleinman chuckled compassionately, "I'll get Carmel to drop you home. I'd do it myself, but I'm exhausted," she shrugged apologetically, and gestured for Evan to follow her downstairs to speak to her wife. "Oh, and just so you know," she added, pausing in the doorway, presumably so that Jared had no way to pretend he hadn't heard her next time he decided he couldn't stand to be around Evan and his intoxicating awkwardness, "You don't have to wait until Tuesday, Evan, you don't need to be invited. You're always welcome here, and we'd love to see more of you, all of us." Evan looked up at her, surprised at her kindness, and it must have shown, since she briskly continued, "Anyway, let's get you home."

She led the way out, and Evan began to follow, hesitating only to glance back at Jared. For the briefest of moments, he thought he saw an uncharacteristically sombre expression on the familiar face, but it was gone before he could be sure, replaced by an exasperated shrug and a roll of his eyes.

No matter the welcome the Mrs Kleinmans showed him, Evan left with no doubts about Jared not wanting him there. That was something he could handle, something he had been handling since he was a little kid who hadn't realized he was too big to be seen crying in school until it was too late. But despite being used to it, the feeling of loneliness wasn't one he relished, by any means.

 _At least I won't be alone tomorrow,_ he consoled himself. _I'll be at the hospital, with Mr and Mrs Murphy and maybe even Zoe, and I'll be giving them some of those e-mails, giving them a piece of their son they never had before. I'll be making them happy, and they'll want me to stay, they won't want me to go. So then I won't have to be alone._

Of course it was wrong. But when he reasoned that it was going to make four people feel better, it didn't really _feel_ so wrong any more.

* * *

 **A/N:** **Okay so I figure Jared would feel a bit deserted by Evan after his three days away from school, hence this rare display of concern and cooperation. I hope that makes sense?**

 **Gah, I know I'm not quite funny enough to do Jared justice - such is life. I'm just doing my best, thanks for humouring me enough to keep reading this far; I super appreciate it!**

 **If I don't update before Thursday 24th, please send me all the positive good luck vibes you can spare, because I get my GCSE results then! Now I've got to get back to freaking out about it, but I hope you'll come back for the next chapter! *SPOILER* everyone gets deep, we learn more about Connor's childhood.**


	5. Chapter 5

**A/N:** **Heeeyyyyy guess who got level nines in English literature and language! So I guess that ought to mean I'm not too shabby at creative writing, which is pretty convenient considering how this is a story and all. I hope you're doing well and taking care of yourself, and you're ready for a new chapter.**

 **Triggers include non-explicit references to drug abuse and suicidal behavior, as always please be aware of that, ad don't proceed if you have any doubts about how it might effect your mental health 3**

 **Well, if you're up for it, I hope you enjoy this!**

* * *

 **These Broken Parts - Chapter 5**

Heidi Hansen was genuinely overjoyed to hear how her son had spent his Friday evening: the first one of the new academic year, and rather than being shut away in his bedroom with nothing better to do than sit around using his laptop, leaving her to commiserate his lack of friends, she had received a text telling her that he would be spending it at the home of her best friends, hanging out with their son.

Of course, the version of events Evan summarized for her was vastly different to the reality. He only told her that he and Jared had watched a few movies then played on his computer, and shared a takeout pizza, and they'd had fun. He neglected to mention how the vast majority of their evening (save for the scoffing of pizza) was really consumed with creating a false narrative between himself and a near-stranger in a coma and obsessively debating the kind of vocabulary Connor would have used if he truly had been part of the e-mailed conversation.

Ignorance was blissful for Heidi, and when Carmel Kleinman had told her that she had heard plenty of laughter from Jared's room, that was proof enough for Heidi that, _finally_ , her beloved son was making progress - making a _friend_.

Pride shone out of her, lighting her eyes from within when she saw Evan on Saturday morning, after one of the best sleeps she could recall having in months. Her good mood wasn't even dampened when Evan told her he was going out for the day to wander around the park: as far as she was concerned, it was a good opportunity for him to carry on broadening his social horizons as well as indulging his love of nature, and it gave her the time and space on one of her rare days off to focus on her latest assignment for class.

She never once considered he could have something else planned entirely.

* * *

As he took the familiar route to the hospital, walking this time instead of getting a ride from one of Connor's parents, he tried not to dwell on the obvious joy his mother had expressed. _She honestly thinks I'm trying to put myself out there, that I'm moving forwards. What would she think if she knew I'm really preoccupied with spending all my time at the bedside of a drug addict in a coma?_

He imagined the possible reactions she might opt for: disappointment, anger, ridicule, the list went on and on, and with each new option, the dread he felt at the prospect of being discovered worsened.

 _She never needs to find out, there's no reason for her to get hurt,_ he told himself, _Connor will be awake soon and then all of this will be over. It's going to be okay, it just needs time, it's going to be okay, it just needs time._ He repeated that mantra mentally, hoping vain that it would sink in and alleviate his need to fidget, rubbing his hands along the hem of his shirt or digging his thumbnails into each of his fingertips in turn, some of his regular habits for when he was feeling particularly nervous. It didn't really help at all.

It only took twenty minutes at a brisk pace to reach the hospital, but before Evan entered he stopped to pull the few e-mails he'd printed out of his pocket, where they were folded neatly into a small, thick oblong. He didn't want to be fumbling around in his pockets once he was actually _with_ Connor's family, they might think he was even more hopeless than he believed they already must.

He didn't bother to unfold them, since he clearly remembered specifically selecting the perfect e-mails to give to the struggling parents, and reading them several times over just to make sure they were exactly as they should be. Now, he saw his hands were so unsteady, he was convinced that unfolding the set of e-mails might lead to him ripping one accidentally, or worse, dropping them and having to chase after the papers before they were lost to him and the Murphys altogether, all the while knowing that his pursuit was turning him into a public spectacle. No, for just a small trace of reassurance, he didn't dare risk it.

Steeling his fragile nerves, he entered the hospital, doing so on his own for the first time in his life. The white tiled floor seemed oddly intimidating when his own were the only footsteps echoing off of it, and he felt instantly intrusive, as though he was making too much noise in the silent reception as he crossed the open space to a familiar corridor.

It was his third visit to see Connor in the hospital, and he was gradually learning the routine of the place: He would head towards the ICU, in which Connor had a private room and would continue to until he came round; Doctors and nurses bustled down the corridors at unpredictable intervals, more often than not in deep debate with a colleague or thoroughly engrossed in a clipboard, so if he moved to the opposite side of the hallway from them, Evan never had to make eye contact with them, much less talk; a nurse would visit Connor's room every two hours, check his heart rate, breathing, fluids, and temperature, and increase his pain relief dosage if he was sweating an abnormal amount, which Larry had told him in a disgusted whisper was one of his withdrawal symptoms; then the nurse would lift Connor's limbs, stretch and bend them one by one and make sure his joints weren't becoming too stiff from lack of movement, and set him back in his former position; A Doctor came by twice a day, repeated the checks on Connor's vitals, and left.

As for the other Murphys, for the most part the parents were glued to the seats at his bedside, but Zoe stayed away, hating the heaviness of the hospital air. Still Larry refused to stay in the room alone with Connor, and still he became agitated when Cynthia spoke to their son, dubious as to what it could possibly achieve apart from encouraging his already desperate wife to be filled with false hope. But they were gradually arguing less and less, beginning to learn that blaming one another would do nothing whatsoever to benefit the son they both fiercely wished to be well.

It was to the resigned, subdued silence of Larry and Cynthia Murphy that Evan entered Connor's room, half-raising a hand in greeting.

"Evan. Hi, sweetheart, it's good of you to come. We weren't sure if you'd be able to make it on a weekend, if you might have plans with friends. But we're glad you're here." Cynthia greeted sincerely, glancing towards the familiar young boy at the door with a sweet smile of welcome. She waved to the empty chair opposite them, and Evan made towards it with a nod of thanks.

He could feel without needing to look at her the burning curiosity held in Mrs Murphy's hazel gaze. Her expectations were crushing him, and his skin itched under the warmth of her gaze. She didn't repeat the question she had asked him the day before, but he felt her eyes dart from his averted face to the paper in his hand, her silent enquiry already clear.

"I, uh," he swallowed down the lump in his throat, and tentatively looked up to need her warm, inquisitive eyes. "I was looking, like I said I would, and, uh, well I - I printed out these... e-mails? You know, between me and - between Connor and I," he added hurriedly, just to clarify that he wasn't asking them to proofread a job application or homework assignment or anything equally ridiculous. He thrust his hand out, the folded sheets gripped so tight that they let out a small squeak when Cynthia tentatively pulled them from between his sweaty digits.

She slowly peeled apart the folded sheets, already arranged in order of the timestamps in the corner, and, holding the e-mails between herself and her husband, began to read. Neither husband or wife spoke while they both poured over the pages, only occasionally glancing up to share a bemused look or surprised chuckle with their spouse. It was a bizarre transformation for the boy to witness, but it _was_ undeniably clear that, when they were huddled around the same five sheets of paper, Larry and Cynthia were more at ease in each other's company than Evan had ever seen them: while they read and re-read the e-mails, they were one, reading at the same speed, surprised and amused by the same things, sharing in the same story that the pages before them told.

They were undisturbed for the first three repetitions of reading, which was when Mr Murphy's mobile rang, a loud, harsh beeping that shattered the comfortable tenderness that had settled around the couple. Not bothering to look at his phone, he sighed, "It will be work again, I've been ignoring them for too long now. I should answer."

Mrs Murphy tore her eyes from the paper in her hands to look up at her husband, already on his feet. "Larry, don't you want - I mean, we've _just_ been given these e-mails, don't you want to _read_ them properly?" She reached out to touch his arm, her expression full of reproach, but her protest fell on deaf ears.

"I just _did_. I'll take this outside," He muttered, walking away and closing the door behind him, immediately rebuilding the wall between himself and Cynthia.

She shook her head, but didn't bother complaining about his behaviour to Evan - she had made it a rule that no arguments were to be allowed near Connor's bedside, because she didn't want him to wake up to the sound of raised voices, and was not about to go against her own rule. "Well, we all have certain _priorities_ ," she said, smiling in a distinctly unimpressed way; _arguments_ were not permitted, but small, critical comments were, evidently, perfectly acceptable.

Evan reverted to his almost foolproof method of deflection, and chuckled nervously, (trusting that, from what he knew of Mrs Murphy, she wouldn't react as ferociously to it as her son had) taking care to avoid explicitly agreeing with the Mother's critique while not exactly disagreeing with her either. He dared not say a word, keenly determined not to take sides and cause offence to any member of the family he so desperately wanted to help, and instead rapidly changed the subject, albeit with trepidation, "These were only _some_ of the e-mails I found, I, uh, I have a lot more, I could print out a lot more." He pointed to the sheets she was holding, hoping that she would quickly return to her previously engrossed state.

Mercifully, she returned to examining the pages, the cold irritation clinging to her features thawing at once as she began stroking a few fingers affectionately across the text in the same way she so often brushed them across her son's paper-white skin. "You know," she mused, a bittersweet smile curving the edges of her lips, "it's almost _difficult_ to read these."

 _Oh no, that's not what I wanted at all_ , "Oh my God I'm so sorry, I, uh, _sorry_ , maybe I should just - sorry, I shouldn't have -" Evan had to dig his nails into the hem of his shirt to keep himself from physically ripping the e-mails out of Cynthia's hands, much as he wanted to; _this was a terrible idea - why didn't I just say I'd deleted everything, huh, wouldn't that have been so much easier? I'm such an idiot, now she's going to feel even worse, I need those back_ , "Here, let me - I can just get rid of them, I'm _so_ sorry, I didn't mean -"

The words dried up the moment Cynthia laughed, a genuine, musical tinkling that was by far the happiest sound he'd ever heard her make. "No, no, that's not what I meant," she assured him, fondness echoing in her words. "I only meant to say, these e-mails, it just doesn't..." She turned from Evan to take one of Connor's limp hands in her own, neglecting to brush aside the dampness clouding her eyes. "It doesn't sound like Connor - or at least, not the boy I know _now_. He's always so... So _vacant_ , so _angry_ , and I - oh God, I don't even _remember_ the last time I heard him laugh. But in these e-mails, the two of you, it looks like you just, you just..." a single tear trickled down her cheek, and she shrugged apologetically at Evan, unable to find the words to say or the strength to keep talking.

"Yeah, we, um, we laugh a lot, uh, all the time. He has a... really great sense of humour," Evan stumbled through his reply, faintly recalling how he was disobeying the advice Jared had given him one day earlier, but simultaneously deciding that it felt like so long ago that it wouldn't hurt to make up something if it made Mrs Murphy happy.

"He did?" Cynthia dabbed at her eyes, beaming from behind her hands. Casting her mind back to the times before chaos and mental illness had descended on her family, she recalled, "he always _loved_ jokes! Especially when he was a little boy, ever since he went to his first travelling book fair: they didn't have many story books that he hadn't read, but he saw this huge joke book, I think it was called..." Her brow furrowed, and she squinted as she reached for the dusty old memory, " _365 days of laughter: New jokes for every day of the year._ Well, he was so proud of himself, because he used all of his own pocket money to buy it, and then he read it front to back within a day. Then he kept reading it again, he read nothing but _that_ every day for two whole weeks. He even insisted on it being his bedtime story, well, if you can _call_ a joke book a story."

She sighed, lost in the past. "We were beginning to get worried, until he stopped reading it altogether. It turned out he had memorized the entire book off by heart, each and _every_ joke - he had a different one for every situation, new ones for every person, and he was so pleased with himself! He'd call up Larry at work, or stay in at recess to tell them to his teacher, or he'd just spend hours on end telling joke after joke to Zoe and I, and soon it wasn't just jokes from that book, he was making up his own, coming up with them on the spot. Someone would say something and he'd have the perfect response to make them laugh... He _loved_ to make people laugh." Cynthia was smiling through the tears falling freely, gazing at her son and seeing, not the unconscious, depressed teenager he had become, but the energetic, talkative boy who loved making other people as happy as he was, the child he had been so many years ago.

But as her story came to an end, the fog that allowed her to replace the present with the past dissipated, and she returned to the unfortunate reality before her. The smile faded, and she returned to reading the e-mails, unable to look at the hollow shadow of her once-happy child, nor his supposed best friend who she feared would think her ridiculous for becoming so completely swept away by her tender memories.

 _This is helping her, to remember the good things. It's making her forget how messy things really are_ , Evan realized, trying to shrug off the guilt that hounded him day and night. "Well, like I said, I can get you more, uh, _more_ e-mails, if... if you want? I don't know, if it helps?" Hoping she took him up on the offer, he added, "Connor, he, um, he had his bad times, obviously, but there were loads of nice things he did too, you know? You should get to see that part of him, even if he never knew how to... show you himself."

"More of these?" She managed to speak clearly over the thickness of the emotions building in her throat. "I'd _love_ to see them - I'd love to see _everything_."

Before Evan could respond, a muffled shout penetrating the sound-proofed walls interrupted them, causing both heads to whip around to look at Larry, red in the face as he yelled into the mouthpiece of his mobile. Most of the clarity of his words was lost among the distance and walls in between him and his son's bedside, but when he strained to hear, Evan thought he made out the words, _"Can't just ignore it."_ Seconds later, he appeared to be hanging up, and releasing a sigh as he tilted his head back to stare at the ceiling. He paced back and forth a few times (No doubt trying to work all of the anger out of his system before he came back to avoid his wife accusing him of imposing his palpable negativity on Connor) before halting, and returning to the room.

He rubbed his temples, evidently still irritated but trying to contain it. The chair creaked under the force with which he fell into it, emotionally drained from the phone call, but he explained himself at once. "That was Amla - Amla Singh, she's been my partner on several larger cases, you might have seen her in the news," he added for the bewildered teenager's benefit, "She said she's struggling with the workload, that there are too many cases for one person, some clients are getting impatient, and there's a stack of paperwork on my desk that urgently needs my attention. She wants to know when I can go back to the office. Wants me in as soon as possible." He shook his head, and before either Cynthia or Evan could respond, he insisted, "I already _told_ her about Connor, what's happened, and that I shouldn't go back until he's awake. They're contractually obligated to offer me at least a week of compassionate leave anyway, and even if not I have plenty of vacation leave saved up, but she says it's still not fair to leave her in the lurch on such short notice."

Cynthia regarded him with an impenetrable, neutral expression. Her voice was even and measured as she stiffly told him, "You can go to work if you really don't want to let her down."

"No," he grunted firmly, and nodded at Connor's peaceful, pale form. "I _want_ to be here. In case he wakes up."

"Fine," Mrs Murphy replied, not looking at him. While he was slouching in his seat, she was sat rigidly, showing without saying a word that she doubted his commitment to being there. Evan could see how she was restraining herself from lashing out, since she was playing with her wedding ring, the usual tell for when she was frustrated with her husband. It wasn't uncommon for the couple to resort to this sort of short, angry spats founded on a great nothing, an aggressive outlet of the emotions that were being produced inside them at a faster rate than tears alone could release. Presumably, she had some comment on the tip of her tongue about how he never actually engaged with their son when he was visiting; he didn't see the need to justify himself to his wife, nonetheless it was something that grated on Cynthia, more so as each day passed, and had she not been the one to insist on no shouting near Connor, Evan had no doubt that she would have unleashed her wrath on Larry.

Her husband picked up on her irritation, and, aggravated from the phone call himself, he challenged, "What, that's not _good_ enough? You want me to _leave_? I said I wouldn't go back to work while he's in here and I meant it, Cynthia - I'm _trying_ , here."

"So am _I_ , Larry," she retorted, lowering her voice to a hiss as she waved the e-mails at him, "I'm trying to see the _good_ in our son, and to look for a way to move forward when he wakes up, while _you_ are already worrying about work - if you don't stop putting your job first, _you_ will be responsible for sending Connor straight back to the hospital after another attempt!"

"I just said, work isn't my priority right now," he defended, straightening in his seat to adopt a more confrontational pose. "You're putting words in my mouth, I'm not even _thinking_ about going back to the office. This comes first," he ardently insisted, ready to refute more accusations if she made them.

Mrs Murphy held his stubborn gaze with a steely glare of her own. She didn't have to say as much to make it obvious that she still held major doubts about his dedication: It had been a matter of days, but she knew all too well that Connor's coma could endure for weeks, even months, and though she _hoped_ he'd wake up any coming day, there was nothing to say that it wouldn't take much longer, and she knew her husband wouldn't be able to resist the call of his job for too long.

She didn't reply to him, but stood, still clutching to those e-mails like they were a lifeline. "I think I'm going to go home for a little while," she murmured, "I might take a couple of hours for a nap, I've not been sleeping too well. And Zoe, she's home alone, I don't want her to think I've forgotten about her."

Larry relaxed now the threat of a full-blown argument was no longer imminent. Much softer than he had been, he agreed, "That sounds like a good idea. Evan and I will keep an eye on things here." He glanced to Evan, a hint of worry gnawing away at the darkness of his irises, but the boy gave a subtle nod, a promise that he wouldn't abandon the strained father.

Cynthia drew a tight, thin-lipped smile, not able to let go of her lingering irritation as easily as Larry but thankful nonetheless that they weren't arguing for the time being. "Call me, if there's any news. Anything," she instructed, looking first to Larry, then to Evan, desperation glowing from the depths of her heavy heart. Finally, she turned to Connor and kissed his forehead, before whispering something to him that was much to quiet for Evan to hear.

This was always her routine every time she left the room, though Evan had only noticed the pattern recently. He was almost intrigued to know what she said, but his conscience came crashing through noisily, reminding him he had no right to even wonder, and obliterated any urge to ask before the idea was even fully formed.

He wished something within him would have prevented his mouth from opening with the same degree of success when, as he raised his hand in a wave goodbye, he added, "Say hi to Zoe for me." _What? What the actual - no,_ why _the actual hell did I have to go and say something like that? What am I expecting, here? What could that possibly achieve - she doesn't even know who I_ am - _which is fine - so why the hell does my stupid mouth think it was a good idea to bother her, with a stupid '_ hi _' of all things?_ Cynthia quirked a quizzical eyebrow, and Evan's internal chastising paused long enough for him to stutter, "It's, uh, it's just that I heard - not that it's anything to worry about, it's _not_ , absolutely not, I'm sure it's all fine - I just heard that she'd, uh, that some people were giving her a hard time? You know, at school, because she was there and not here? But it's nothing, I'm sure it's nothing, please just forget I even mentioned it, I just, uh, maybe let her know she shouldn't feel bad about it, that she's not doing anything wrong. But don't say that I said to say anything, she'll just think - I mean, that would just sound so dumb, so..." He trailed off, pressing both thumbnails hard into the tips of his index fingers and trying to focus on the burn concentrated there rather than the itching covering every inch of his skin and intensifying the longer the Murphys looked at him. He lowered his gaze into his lap.

"I'll tell her," Cynthia nodded with an appreciative smile, "Thank you for letting me know."

There was no need for more goodbyes, so Mrs Murphy walked away without another word, this time actually making it out of the private room. It was Larry who tentatively broke the silence a few minutes later, picking up the conversation exactly where it had petered out. "So, the other kids don't approve of Zoe not being here?"

"N-Not really, or well, that's what I heard. It sounds like, uh... people are really rallying around Connor." _Or at least, Jared said they were talking about him, which counts_. "But I guess some people get a little bit lost when they want to support something, you know, they kind of... redirect anger at other stuff? It's stupid but I guess they think it helps." _Kind of like how Mr and Mrs Murphy keep trying to pick fights over nothing - not that I'm judging, it's_ definitely _not my place to judge._

Larry nodded pensively, carefully considering Evan's point as he replied, "I suppose you're right. It - thinking about the terrible thing that's happened, or spending time on it - even if it doesn't achieve a lot, it makes you feel like you're... Well, not _helping_ , per say, but doing your duty." He glanced away from Evan and towards his son, grief clouding his face the instant he took in the distressing sight. "I don't blame Zoe for wanting to be away from all this, it's no place for a teenage girl. Or a teenage _boy_ , I guess," he added, grimacing slightly at the bitter taste of irony in his statement.

Evan didn't interrupt, so he kept talking. "We tried, you know, _I_ tried - I've given him _everything_ , you wouldn't think it to look at him now, but I did, all of these new treatments, therapies, medications, every single new ' _miracle cure'_ Cynthia found out about we tried, but he refused to stick with it. You know, when he first started smoking pot on the regular, he actually told us he was just _self-medicating_? We'd had him on prescription drugs, he seemed to actually be _improving_ , but suddenly he gave up just as things were getting better, in favour of... instant gratification." Larry winced at the memories of that particularly nasty dispute. "He got his first therapist when he was twelve, but apparently he had an _annoying voice,_ so we tried a new one. Connor said she was too young to know what she was talking about, and the next one was supposedly so old he probably couldn't even figure out a cell phone, let alone a human brain, and after that he refused to see anyone on a regular basis." Even years later, Larry Murphy's disbelief and disappointment were both so clearly printed upon his face that they could have been as fresh and new as the stitches in Connor's thighs.

"Yeah, well, therapy's not much fun," Evan replied, not even really thinking about how much he was revealing. Fortunately, Larry seemed not to notice.

"Yup, that's about what he said. You'd think we could _make_ him go, but we couldn't - he's so stubborn, there's so much _anger_ inside him just waiting for the slightest provocation to burst out, it's impossible to get through to him." Mr Murphy's subdued, flat words gained feeling and heat the longer he spoke, his rant becoming something of a scolding to the unconscious boy before him, "He just doesn't listen; he can't see that we're just trying to help him, that we _would_ if he'd just let us, but _no_ , instead he has to go and shut us out, take things into his own hands, give up on all the treatments we've tried in favour of hurting himself and getting high, and just look where it's got him." He was on the brink of shouting by the time he finished, but as soon as the words were out, he seemed surprised by himself, caught off guard as though he genuinely hadn't meant to get so heated.

He inhaled deeply, and as he did so, his anger dissolved. Sorrow took it's place as Larry confessed quietly, "The thing with Connor is that he'll start something, get so far, then get bored and run away from making progress, and I've _always_ told him, if he keeps giving up and taking shortcuts, sooner or later he'll lose his way completely and end up... somewhere he really doesn't want to be, with no clue how to get out." His voice was thick, unshed tears making him hoarse, and he coughed, trying to dismiss his pain. "I'm not, ah, you must see," he awkwardly directed this at Evan, "I'm not trying to blame him for _this_. It's just - and I _know_ how bad this sounds - we really _have_ tried to help him. It's just hard to see how he could go and try to throw that all away."

The man before him looked so lost that Evan wouldn't have known how to criticize him, even if he wanted to. "No, sure, that makes sense," Evan quickly replied, thinking of his own mother; Heidi had done everything she could to support him, even if they had drifted apart recently due to her being stretched so taught between work and class. She still asked questions about his progress even when he wasn't up to being a half decent conversationalist, she made sure he always went to his appointments with his therapist, she checked he didn't ever run out of medication, and yet _none_ of it seemed to make a blind bit of difference to him. She was trying her hardest to push him towards happiness and fulfilment, and _he_ was trying, for her, to trudge along that bumpy path, but it seemed that no matter how many steps he took, his goal was as far away as ever.

He lied to her that it was looking closer every day. If his Mom had one shortcoming, about all others, it was that she couldn't see it when her son lied to save her feelings.

Mr Murphy smiled at him - it looked alien on his stony features. He hesitated, mouth open for a second, before he said, "Thank you, Evan." He turned back to Connor, the ghost of the smile still lingering as evidence of the sombre humour with which he regarded the past. "I know I already said it, but I'm glad you're here. For Connor, and for Cynthia and I. It means a lot to her that you're spending so much time with us, and that you're trying to talk to him, too - I can tell you find it awkward, but it's good that you can try."

 _I find it awkward because I hate speaking to strangers. And people in general, but especially people I don't know, and who would probably try to kill me if they knew I was there._ One hand scratched nervously at the fabric of his cast. Strangely enough, Evan didn't share that with Larry, but anxiously agreed, "Yeah, it feels a little weird."

Larry sighed heavily, his exhaustion visible. Evan came to realize that Larry was sharing things with him he simply couldn't even consider confessing to Cynthia when he bashfully admitted, "You've noticed that I don't talk to him, I'm sure; Cynthia _definitely_ has, and she hates it. She probably thinks it's proof that I don't want him to get better, but it's not, of _course_ it's not. I know I shouldn't be making excuses for not doing it, but I just _can't_. I can't sit here talking to him like he can actually hear me when I know he probably can't. I don't want to play along with that, making out like he's listening to all the things I'm telling him, only for the doctors to turn around weeks, _months_ down the line and say it was all for nothing, that I might as well have been talking to a corpse because he's not..." Mr Murphy's voice cracked, and he struggled to compose himself before he could raspily finish, "Not going to wake up."

Lost for words, Evan could muster nothing more than a quiet, "Oh."

He swallowed, shook his head, and refused to look at Evan, absorbed instead in his son's damp face. "You don't have to pretend it's not awful for me to think like that, I already know it. I don't _want_ that to happen, naturally, but we just don't know what's going to happen. I didn't think this would last more than a couple of days - and I _know_ , it's not been that long, but if _feels_ like it's been so much longer - and I hate the uncertainty. Facts, perseverance, hard work, that's what I work with, that's what makes _sense_ to me. Not this."

"Yeah, no, I'm sure. It must - uh, it is - so... just, hard, just to see him like this. It's not how he should be, it's... Not right." He didn't have to lie to convey how deeply wrong the whole situation felt - not just because he was lying, or even because he was having - _is this what they call a heart to heart?_ \- with a man old enough to be his father, but because there was something inherently terrible about _any_ person, but especially a young person with so much ahead of them, lying motionless in a hospital because they didn't want to be alive any more. _Am I a hypocrite to think that?_ He wondered, uncomfortable at what he found to be the answer. _It's still true - no one should think that they're so alone that their only choice is to try and end it._

Larry wiped his eyes, though Evan had the sense not to mention it, and tried to steer things onto a lighter topic. "Those e-mails you showed us? They were really something. It's strange knowing that Connor wrote them." He didn't notice as Evan shifted in his seat and began to tug at a loose thread on his cast. "I've not seen that side of him for so long: nowadays, he's either completely numb or utterly furious."

"No, um, n-not always," Evan defended, thinking of the start of their meeting in the computer lab rather than the e-mails he'd helped to write. His hands twisted into sweaty knots, more anxious with every new non-truth he told. "He was... He could see when I needed a friend, and he was there for me when I did." _That's what he did that one time, and it has to count for something. 'Now we can both pretend we have friends,' that's what he said, he didn't want me to feel so alone. He wasn't mad until he read the letter._

"You know, I saw that," Larry mused, "In the e-mail after you broke your arm. He sounded so concerned, like he really cared that you were alright... I really can't tell you how much it means that he has a friend like you."

Evan forced himself to meet those sincere blue eyes as he nodded awkwardly and mumbled an incoherent agreement.

Another buzz from Mr Murphy's pocket evoked a heavy sigh from the father. Grudgingly, he pulled it out and opened the alert, before turning the screen to Evan to show him an e-mail with an image attachment showing a desk just visible beyond a vast mountain of papers. "Visual evidence of how urgently I'm needed," he chuckled without a hint of humour. "I'm not going back to the office, don't worry," he placated as Evan opened his mouth. "But does it make me a bad father that I'm feeling guilty about that?"

The man had been so open with him, so frank about his thought process and feelings, and Evan got the impression he wanted an honest opinion in return, instead of meaningless platitudes. So he considered it carefully before slowly deciding, "I guess it makes you a dedicated worker. But I don't think... Okay, so _my_ dad? He, uh, he didn't come to the hospital when I'd broken my arm - actually, it was Connor that took me, but anyway -" he added, uncomfortable at how close to opening up about his own life he was coming, and throwing in a careless lie to bring himself back to comfortable territory. "I know that's nothing like this, but he wasn't there, he had other stuff on, so... He did that other stuff instead." _Other stuff like living his life with his new wife and kids. But there's no point in bringing him down with that tragic tale._ "But _you_ , you have other stuff to do, but you're here, uh, instead, right? I think that has to count for something." He shrugged, his eyes returning to stare at his cast as the other hand scratched at the hard exterior. "Oh, and hey," he added as an afterthought, "If you've really got that much administrative work, papers and stuff to do, maybe you could just go and pick some up, get it done from here? I don't know, though, I mean obviously if that's not practical then feel free to ignore me or whatever, I don't know, it just -"

"No, no. That's... actually a good idea." Larry nodded thoughtfully, and scrolled down his phone screen. "Yeah, I think it sounds like there's definitely a fair bit I could get done from outside the office - it's not usually the done thing, but in the circumstances I think that would be okay."

Evan pressed his lips together into a thin line, unsure what to say; he hadn't anticipated his rambling suggestion to actually be helpful, but he was pleasantly surprised. He found the self control to stop fidgeting, and for the first time, he managed to relax slightly in the company of Connor and Larry Murphy.

"I, um, would you mind if I went in to grab a few things now?" Larry asked, typing a message as he spoke. "You'll wait here, right, and I'll be straight back, I just want to get the ball rolling with this. My partner's really swamped right now, so I should try to help."

Energetic, Evan nodded rapidly, easily agreeing, "Sure, yeah, totally, no I can just... stay here, yeah. Yeah, you should go."

Larry stood, stretching and groaning slightly as he did so, as if his bones had been welded to the seat during the time he'd spent sat there. _Worry ages you,_ Evan noted, regarding the man's tired, scruffy appearance with concern. _That's probably why I have the posture and energy of an eighty year old._ He was reassured by the fact that he knew that the lawyer at least had a goal now: _Maybe this really is for the best: he can stay on top of his work, have something else to focus on just like he wanted, and still be here in case something... happens. Yeah, this could really be a good thing._

"Thanks," Larry murmured, smiling sincerely. He didn't go as far as to kiss his son and whisper to him, but he did touch a finger lightly to his hand.

"N-no problem," Evan assured as Larry left the room.

Alone with the unconscious body, Evan wondered if he should say something, before promptly deciding Connor wouldn't think much of it. Instead, he just sat, trying his hardest to channel his inner serenity. He thought of Larry's woeful reminiscence, and of Cynthia's bittersweet memories of a happy, laughing young boy, and his heart rate slowed.

Weirdly enough, humanized as his parents' stories had made him, Connor's silent presence before him wasn't so much of a blockade against calmness any more.

* * *

 **A/N:** **Im not overly delighted with this one, but I can deal with that. Plus, we got more of the Murphy's getting emotional and sharing some stuff about the real™ Connor Murphy, which was really fun for me! (Also Cynthia's memory was inspired by the cut song, "a little bit of light", it's on YouTube, and I'd really recommend listening to it if you haven't already.)**

 **So Larry is working out how to mix family and work, and I consider that a good step. Cynthia is trying her best, the poor thing. And Evan is not best friends with honesty right now, and what's new there?**

 **Something that is new, though, is that we finally see a little more of Zoe and Alana in the next chapter! I love my girls, and it's their time to shine. Hopefully you'll get to see that in not too long! Til then, thanks for reading, and let me know what you think!**


	6. Chapter 6

**A/N I'm back with a new update! Sorry it's been a while, college just started and it's pretty hectic right now. But here we are.**

 **TRIGGER WARNING: This chapter briefly mentions blood and references self harm and drug abuse as a means of suicide attempt. This is within the first four paragraphs. Please use your better judgement, and don't read this if it will impact you badly, your wellbeing is the most important thing**

 **Well, this is angst and not much else, but I hope you like it!**

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 **These Broken Parts - Chapter 6**

The Murphy house was as silent as a church.

Such had been the case ever since Connor had been dragged out of it with fresh blood seeping through the rips in his jeans and a hand clamped around an empty needle; and _no_ , it wasn't like he'd ever been the heart and soul of a cosy family home before he'd put himself in a coma, but his absence was a gaping gash in the fabric of what made the place function; existing within the same four walls as him was like being caught up in a storm, but being there without him was worse. It was like living in a disaster zone without any indication of when, how, or where the disaster would strike, the anticipation small at first, but growing until it swallowed you up, transforming into anxiety and impatience and doubt.

That's how it felt to Zoe, anyway.

She'd been the first one to find him, told to bring him downstairs for dinner only to find him scarcely breathing, lying across the boundary between his bathroom and bedroom, his head wedged between the toilet and the bathroom tiles and his limp legs extending to his carpet, in almost the same kind of messed-up state that she'd come to expect from him but also terrifyingly different. She'd been the first to enter his room at the hospital, seeing him looking just like he always did when he was sleeping or stoned - that is, if he always slept attached to a ventilator to make sure he didn't stop breathing. Her home, though physically unchanged, (save for the mess made in the boy's room when the barely habitable space had been invaded by paramedics) was like Connor in that sense, the same on the surface but fundamentally changed within, so much calmer than ever before, but in a way that was so unnatural it made her skin crawl and eyes burn:

It felt like the life had been ripped right out.

People came and went without any regularity or schedule, her parents stopping by some nights to sleep, and some days to catch up on the sleep they'd failed to achieve the night before; their friends and neighbours visited, bringing over casseroles and flasks of tea and fruit and pies and cookies and pasta bakes, and tidying the already immaculate house, while intentionally avoiding the single room where there was actually a real mess, the room with a dirty brown stain set into the lilac carpet; none of them spoke at full volume, their voices remained just above a whisper, as if they feared disturbing the stagnant air; their movements were slow, cautious, and punctuated with melancholy sighs to match their miserable thoughts; they drifted about like ghosts, pale and transient, like the faintest breeze might blow them away.

It was stifling, and the very reason Zoe preferred it when she was alone in the house, or away from it altogether.

Monday morning saw the return of her mother from the hospital, where she had spent the night at Connor's bedside, curled up on a pull out mattress. Cynthia was sat at the table when Zoe entered the kitchen, holding a jug of almond milk aloft, as though she was expecting it to pour itself into her coffee. Zoe would have turned around and headed straight to school had she not felt the stirrings of sympathy in her heart at the pitiful state of her mother, so accustomed to smothering the rest of the family with her needless fussing but now evidently incapable of even taking care of herself.

Swallowing a sigh, the teenager set her mouth in a straight, narrow line and tried to keep her face neutral as she approached Cynthia, prised the jug from her hand and poured her a splash of milk.

The layer of cream at the top of the liquid caught her by surprise, and the first peal of laughter in days rang melodically through the hollow house as she exclaimed, "Holy crap, Mom, this is _real_ milk! Like, from a _cow_! And full fat - _must_ be a bad day." In her surprise, the second part came out before she could really think about it, and the amusement melted out of her tone as she muttered, "Well, _that's_ kind of obvious."

"Mmm." Cynthia appeared transfixed by the creamy cow's milk as it spiralled within her mug, mercifully oblivious to her daughter's faux pas. "Hey, did you get around to reading those e-mails Evan gave us? I know you were busy on Saturday, and I didn't check in with you yesterday, but -"

"No. Maybe later," Zoe replied flatly, grabbing a fresh pastry, courtesy of Mrs Harris and her kids (and their trip to the local bakery rather than their own skill, not that Zoe was complaining about her breakfast not having been prodded by their sticky, snotty fingers), and eating as fast as possible to avoid this conversation. She didn't want to read anything her brother had written, she just wanted all of the uncertainty surrounding him to be over. She wouldn't have minded the ability to travel back in time, either, to the days when they were best friends, and stop him ever making such a mess of himself, but that was (marginally) even _less_ likely than things going back to normal sometime soon.

Truthfully, Cynthia Murphy was too tired to process the reply sufficiently to be genuinely disappointed; she only murmured softly, "Alright, sweetheart. You read them when you're ready, then maybe..." She trailed off, and when Zoe glanced over her shoulder from where she was rooting around in the fridge for some juice, she saw a tear trickling silently onto the table.

Ever her father's daughter, the girl hardened her resolve not to be caught up amidst the emotions spilling out of her Mother. "So," Zoe swiftly did her best to steer the conversation onto slightly less precarious ground as she poured some pineapple juice into a glass, still not taking a seat. "Does that cup of coffee mark the end of the whole veganism-come-Buddhism phase?"

Cynthia chuckled quietly. "I think that ended the moment everyone in the neighbourhood started bringing over meat dishes. Still, as long as it's free range, I suppose it's not so bad."

"Is that your new thing then, do you think? Free range, and maybe organic, that way you could start -"

"Everyone's been so supportive," Cynthia carried on as though Zoe hadn't said a word. "Even the people who've doubted Connor are trying to help us through this, I'm sure he'll really appreciate it when he comes home. He'll _see_ how much we all care, and he'll let us help him to get better, just wait and see."

 _Woop, there it is - more unrealistic expectations of Connor's miraculous recovery, no doubt fuelled by whatever Evan Hansen has told her_. Gritting her teeth, Zoe replied, "I'm not so sure he'll be up for a _meet and greet_ with the neighbours if he comes home, no matter _how_ many meals they donate to us. He scares them all with his screaming anyway, and I don't expect _that's_ something that a coma will have fixed." She couldn't bring herself to feel bad at the pained confusion clouding her mother's face, not when she knew she was right. She wasn't exaggerating about the neighbours being afraid of Connor, either, she could recall many an occasion when she'd listened to Cynthia tell the concerned voices murmuring down the phone or anxiously knocking on the door that the screaming and banging was nothing to worry about, that Connor hadn't hurt anyone and he was just upset, that there was no need for them to call the police because he didn't _mean_ it when he threatened to kill somebody. _Why won't she see, Connor has serious problems that he doesn't want to talk about, or get help with, or fix, things we can't begin to understand, things that make him angry and violent just such a fucking dick; they don't just go away, it's not like one suicide attempt has got it all out of his system - it doesn't work like that._

She took a large swig of juice in order to resist continuing to share her thoughts on the matter, though anger and frustration still blazed in her eyes as she drank. Recognizing it, Mrs Murphy smiled as though she knew something Zoe didn't. "I understand," she insisted gently, "Connor's not been the easiest to connect with recently... But _now_ -"

Her glass was empty, and she couldn't fight the urge to speak her mind any longer. Raising her voice, Zoe fiercely refuted, "For _years_ now, Connor has been out of control, he's violent and completely _unpredictable_ , not just 'hard to connect to'. Whatever you believe, whatever e-mails you've read, whatever your uninformed friends are telling you, _nothing_ changes that: he's a _bad person_ who hurts anyone who tries to help him, Mom, that's the truth whether he's in a coma or not."

Cynthia took a deep breath, calming herself before she could reply. When she did, she spoke slowly, carefully remaining composed. "I know you _think_ that's all Connor is, but you're wrong, Zoe. You're lashing out because you're struggling - I _know_ you are, and that's okay, I know you just have to deal with it in your own way. But your brother is so much more than any of us ever realized, and _that's_ why I'm so sure things are going to get better now. I think if you read the e-mails then you'd be able to see that, Zoe, you really would..." The icy edge to her daughter's eyes didn't melt as she had hoped. Resigned, she continued, "And if you're _not_ ready, that's okay too. Maybe you could talk to Evan about it in person? He told me he would be going back to school today - he's worried about falling behind, which is understandable, I suppose - anyway, what he's said has been so helpful to your father and me, and I think he could really help _you_ , too." Zoe didn't reply immediately, leaving her to prompt, "What do you think?"

Zoe dropped her glass in the sink and took an apple from the fruit bowl. "I think I'm going to be late for school if I don't leave now. Bye, Mom."

* * *

Evan couldn't face another day at the hospital. He thought he could manage, after all he'd _already_ spent the best part of four days sitting beside the bed and talking to Mr and Mrs Murphy, he'd become used to the daily comings and goings and occurrences. Lying to ease their strained hearts was becoming his second language, but maintaining his lie was a heavy burden to bear. It took its toll on his wretched mind, keeping him awake at night, torturing him with the guilt of lying to his mom and Connor's family, and when he woke up on Monday, he _knew_ he was far too exhausted to face the Murphys; he feared he'd confess as soon as seeing them, since he was _definitely_ in no state to put on the show he'd managed for the past few days. So he messaged Mrs Murphy first thing, telling her he had to go to school, and he'd try to visit later in the day, but couldn't promise anything. She didn't protest, but he could picture the disappointment on her face, and it made his stomach knot.

The only thing worse was the look of genuine concern his own mother gave him the moment she set eyes on him. She pointed out how pale he looked, how his forehead was clammy and his eyes were bloodshot, and begged him to stay home. Evan was sorely tempted to agree, until she offered to call the school for him: he knew that the Murphy's had somehow already arranged for him to be allowed to take as much time off as he liked while Connor's fate still hung in the balance, and there was every likelihood that if Heidi called up about a genuine illness, she'd be told that Evan's absence was fully anticipated, leading his entire story to unravel... So he insisted upon school, regardless of the genuine illness that seemed to be manifesting around him, and, much as he hated being surrounded by masses of his insensitive, intimidating peers, on that rare occasion it was better than the alternative of facing yet _another_ day of staring at a motionless body and making up lies about the life within it.

The long walk down the path between the gates and the school building seemed to stretch for miles, and for each step he took it felt like the ground was slipping from underneath him, keeping him from moving forwards and making him feel dizzy in the process; There were whispers, mostly too quiet to make out, but he thought he caught his name once or twice in the hisses that snaked through the air and across his skin and made him want desperately to scratch it all away. He would have dug his chewed nails into his arms, neck and face in a manic frenzy had he not been acutely self conscious - he could feel so many eyes upon him, which wasn't exactly _unusual_ , but what was really so uncomfortable about it was the fact that this time, he knew with absolute certainty that he wasn't simply being paranoid; he was actually being observed by every other person in the vicinity.

Because he couldn't turn off the gaze of the other students, Evan did the next best thing. He screwed his own eyes shut, so tight that he could hear the familiar, tuneless buzz of white noise in his ears. It helped for a few seconds. He was determined to block everything out, the staring and the whispers and the nausea, but all too quickly the fear of tripping up forced him to open them again.

He could have cried in relief when he saw upon opening them that he was just a few steps from the door.

Entering the school building made the whispers far more audible, and he did his best to ignore it as he recognized the unmistakable sound of his own name being spoken by so many people who, just a week ago, would have had no idea who he was. _Maybe the fact that they don't know me will keep anyone from actually speaking to me - obviously not because they're intimidated, but maybe just because they... want to respect my personal struggles? Maybe? I know it's a long shot, but gossip has to be better than interrogation, so they'd better have the common decency to just leave me be, or I might just... Well, I guess I'd just break down right here._

Lost within the familiar old halls, Evan decided to head towards the library: not only was it the one place in school where quietness was specifically expected, but it was also likely to hold students more interested in studying that speculating on the latest tragedy. It seemed to have potential to be a prime place to search for solace.

At first, when he noticed that the further he walked, the more the clusters of students began to thin out, and the less conspicuous the whispers became, and he dared to hope that perhaps things wouldn't be quite so terrible as he feared. And then he reached the library, at the exact same time as someone else:

"Evan, hey! Oh my God, how _are_ you? How's Connor? Is he awake, is that why you're here? _Everyone's_ been talking about him, oh my God, it really is _so_ terrible, I feel awful for his poor family, I really wish there was something I could do. I think we _all_ need to do our bit to support the Murphys right now, you know? Oh, but there is something I've just started, I'd really love to show you if you've got the time - hey, are you coming into the library?" Alana paused her rushed tirade of questions to hold open the door, an inviting, hopeful smile on her face.

Still slightly baffled by the quantity of words she'd fired at him in such a brief window, Evan struggled to gather himself before he could stutter a reply, "Oh, Alana, hi, uh, I actually, uh... I - _yes_ , I am. Uh, thanks." He blinked hard, and dragged the corners of his mouth upwards so that his expression resembled something similar to happiness.

Alana smiled even wider, and lead the way in, visibly trying to calm her overeagerness so as to keep herself from terrifying the other teen. "Sorry," she apologised, and though she continued to smile, Evan noticed that her eyes were just a little bit _too_ bright, fuelled with a frantic energy that could only come from true desperation to come across well, and not to say anything that could drive him away. "I just have a lot of _feelings_ right now. _Everyone_ around school does, don't you think? There's a real atmosphere of togetherness at the moment. Everyone's been touched by what Connor did - and by _your_ story." She spoke slowly, almost reverently, as she mentioned Evan.

 _Everyone's certainly feeling curious, I don't know about an overriding togetherness, though._ Beside her, he fiddled with a loose thread on his cast, just able to maintain a guise of composure as he checked, "My... _story?_ "

"Well, yeah!" She laughed, and pulled him to sit at a computer desk, logging in as she divulged, "Jared's been telling everyone about you and Connor - how close you guys are, how you're secretly best friends, and how you're the only one he ever trusted? It's really _so_ inspiring; everyone's been talking about how brave you are for sticking by him through this."

She turned her dark eyes on him, and the brown orbs glowed with hopeful expectation. Scrambling for something to say, he mumbled, "Well, I need to be there, so..."

Alana nodded enthusiastically, and opened up chrome on the computer. "Sure, you want to be there to make sure he's okay. it really sounds like you're such a good friend to him, Evan. And I bet his family really appreciates it: You're lucky, you get to help them so much." There was no missing the awe in her words. Though she was being the rare combination of kind and sincere, Evan longed to shrink away from her high praise. Before he could even think of protesting, however, Alana was commanding him to focus on the computer screen. "Right, look at this: I know it's hardly the same as being Connor's best friend, but this is what I've done so far. It's just my little way of showing my support, and I'm trying to get more people involved, to make it bigger than this." She gestured to the webpage, and scrolled slowly down.

"Wow, that's... Uh, what is this?" Digging his thumbnails into his fingertips, Evan desperately hoped that Alana wouldn't be offended by his failure to identify what she was so obviously proud of.

Fortunately, her urgency to connect to him compelled her to laugh rather than scorn. "Oh, it's a blog - you know, a webpage that you can - uh, anyway," she caught herself before she went off on a tangent and started patronizing him, saving it with another nervous, bright smile, "It's basically a blog I made, dedicated to Connor. I've been asking around for pictures, see," she pointed to three different pixlelated photos of Connor's face, none of which included him looking at the camera: on closer inspection, two seemed to be selfies he had unintentionally been caught in the background of, and the other was a class photo, all three cropped only to show blurry images of his scowling, pale face. Evan didn't know whether it was more amusing how obviously non-consenting Connor had been of his appearance in any of those photos, or tragic how nobody had come forward having intentionally taken a picture specifically of or with him.

He didn't like to linger on that, however, as Alana was still pointing at the screen to show him, "The main feature of the page, though, is the message board, where people can share prayers and support and nice memories, and talk to each other about what they feel." She hesitated, again her overwhelming friendliness being restrained by her underlying anxiety. Pushing her glasses up onto the bridge of her nose, she asked, "What do you think?"

Evan looked at the page, focusing on the messages people had posted, messages of their own despair as well as hopes and support for Connor and his parents. He knew for a fact that most of the people who had written them barely knew the comatose boy or his family, but still they wanted to participate in sending them their well-wishes. _I know I can't judge anyone for not being genuine, but there's no denying that some of these people are just looking to be a part of Connor's tragedy. But is that really so wrong? Maybe they're just like me, trying to do what little they can to make other people feel better? This could be a good thing._ Not meeting Alana's anxious gaze, he began, "I think... it's really -"

"I know, I _know_ it's not much, it's barely even a _start_ on what I _want_ to do, but it's something, isn't it? I just want to help other people feel less alone, you know? And I thought, 'Hey, maybe Connor's parents might like to know that we're all thinking of him,' and this was the first thing I could think of doing, so..."

"No! No, I... I know, uh, I think this is really great." It wasn't often that it felt to Evan to interrupt when another person was clearly overthinking a situation, and he chuckled at how the tables had been turned.

Alana's joy burst out of her like a firework, as she laughed and clasped her hands together before lunging for Evan as if about to hug him, then immediately revising her choice and deciding on a clumsy nudge of his shoulder instead. Her babbling speech was nonetheless coherent as she insisted, "I'm _so_ pleased you like it. Maybe you could show Connor's parents, I think they might like it too. And hey," she added as Evan nodded his consent, "Please, if there's anything at all I can do to make things a little easier for you and the Murphy's, let me. I really want to help, Evan, it's such a tragedy, but it's really brought people together - people are talking to each other who've never talked to each other before. If something else good can come out of this, then I want to be involved. Please." Her dark, wide eyes stared directly into his, genuine and unblinking.

Hating the notion of letting anyone down, Evan was just about to agree and beat a hasty retreat, before he heard the sound of a door slamming shut, alarmingly close. He jumped out of the seat, instantly defensive as he turned around to see what had caused the loud crash.

Zoe Murphy had her back pressed against the door, her face tilted to the ceiling as a sigh left her parted lips. Evan just stared for a moment, hypnotized by the sight of her, dishevelled and tired and beautiful as ever. But her temporary stillness couldn't last, and the instant she looked forwards, her green eyes met his, and immediately she turned around.

 _I guess that looks like she hates me now she thinks I'm close to her brother. But okay, if she hates me, that at least means she knows I exist... That's an improvement._

"Zoe! Hey, it's great to see you. Do you have a minute?" Evan marvelled at Alana's courage as she did something he would never dare. Even so, he didn't expect Zoe to pay her any attention, since clearly she, like him, had entered the library with the hope of avoiding the other insensitive, over-interested students who kept pelting her with questions. And she, _unlike_ him, had enough self-respect that she surely wouldn't allow herself to be drawn into something she explicitly wanted to avoid.

But if her choice was between crowds upon crowds of noisy, rude kids asking her to recount the details of her brother's attempt, and two quiet, overly polite seniors, neither of whom was likely to press her to divulge anything beyond that which she was comfortable with and one of whom already knew most everything anyway, the answer was clear. Bracing herself, she turned back around, guarded and subdued as she asked, "What?"

"I was just showing Evan the blog I made for Connor, and I thought _you_ might like to see it, too," Alana cautiously suggested, open and trying to appear concerned as she extended the invitation.

Zoe smirked, evidently sceptical as she replied, "Why, is your blog better informed than _I_ am about my own brother?"

Recognising his own instinctive response in the other teenager, Evan winced as Alana forced out a timid laugh. Struggling to remain optimistic, she explained, "Well, no, of course not... it's mainly just messages of support from people at school, we all have some really nice things to say to you and your family. Everyone just wants to support Connor, so I wanted to give them a place to show it."

"That's... nice of you," Zoe frowned, her expression implying she didn't find it nice at all. "The only thing is, I _know_ no one who's put a message on your little blog actually knows, or even _likes_ , my brother, so what they have to say doesn't really mean much, does it." It wasn't a question, but Evan found himself subconsciously agreeing with her harsh words, even though they made Alana shrink back into herself beside him.

Zoe's eyes flickered between him and Alana, silently asking if they were done with her. He felt compelled to suggest, "Whether people know Connor or not, I think this is definitely the kind of thing your parents would appreciate."

Zoe shrugged, with a non-committal, "Maybe. I guess they're into that sentimental stuff." She sighed, and with a roll of her eyes and a glimmer of amusement budding at the corner of her lips, she recalled, "Then again, they've been nagging me to read the _last_ thing you thought they'd appreciate all weekend - which I _haven't_ , by the way, I didn't read your e-mails. You can keep your version of my brother," she lowered her eyes, and a darkness seemed to settle upon her as she quietly added, "It sounds like it's very different from _mine_."

The Murphys had told Evan more than enough times that there was a significant rift in the siblings' relationship, that the distance between them meant that Zoe struggled to process her feelings about her brother, and Evan had sort of pieced together the idea that she was trying to keep away from Connor and carry on as normal to protect herself. But for those few seconds, she allowed her guard to slip. It was only a little bit, and for a matter of heartbeats rather than seconds, but the glimpse he got of her inner fragility was what really showed him that the divide between the Murphy children was much deeper than he had ever realized.

Pity, not just for Connor any longer but also his little sister, jolted through Evan's heart. And still, he _knew_ he didn't know either of them, he _knew_ he was so far out of his depth, and he _knew_ he was completely unworthy of Zoe's time and attention, but he had to ask: "What happened between you two?"

The wall came straight back up the instant the words left Evan's mouth; the careful, blank neutrality was back upon her face, only this time with the additional ice in her eyes. "You know, I should go. I actually have stuff to _do_ if people would just leave me alone for five minutes, so -"

She reached for the door, but Alana called, "Zoe, I just want to help you, so if there's anything -"

"You know what would _help?_ " Zoe barked the words over her shoulder as she left the library, "If people would just leave me alone!"

The door slammed shut behind her even harder than it had when she entered, and Evan cringed away from the sound.

He braced himself before he dared to turn to Alana, expecting her to be distraught over such complete rejection, _What if she breaks down and starts crying, how am I meant to deal with that - me, of all people? I'm terrible at keeping my own emotions in check, let alone other people's, please don't start crying, oh my god..._

The sight he saw when he managed to face her, however, was completely different from what he'd anticipated: Alana was still gazing at the closed door, a soft smile on her lips and admiration radiating out from her. Feeling eyes upon her, she tore her own away from where Zoe had disappeared, to say, "Wow. She is _so_ strong."

* * *

Surviving the morning, Evan decided, was an achievement to be proud of. Not, of course, that he could confide in his Mom or his therapist about how well he'd handled the attention, but he imagined they would both be quite pleased if they knew that he'd spent four hours being subjected to all manner of questions from hoards of boisterous, chatty teenagers, most of which he didn't even know by name, and not had a panic attack or ran from the building in floods of tears.

Which was not to say that it was easy, by any means; the sensation of being watched didn't fade at any point during the day, it lingered like a hayfever headache, moving from one area to another, always with that same throbbing discomfort. The stress it ignited within him settled in his lungs like lumps of coal, dense and black. People addressed him directly, looking at _him_ and him alone in a way that made it impossible to dodge their queries, and came far too close, close enough that Evan was certain that he could feel heat coming off of everyone else in waves directed specifically at him, slowly roasting him from the inside out. His palms broke out in a sweat which made it so difficult to grip a pen that writing was beyond his abilities, his eyes blurred and his head felt fuzzy from the intensity of the pressure, but it didn't seem to matter that he couldn't work, because amongst answering questions as vaguely as he could and eavesdropping to hear the rumours circulating about Connor, he hardly got a chance to focus on the lessons anyway.

In spite of all that, he carried on: he was prepared for an utter disaster, and though the morning he endured was completely horrible and physically painful, he managed to avoid outwardly humiliating himself. People were sympathetic, it seemed; they'd learned from Zoe that an unforgiving attitude would inevitably lead to a source of reliable information clamming up completely, and in an effort to keep the lines of communication between the student body and the boy in the hospital open, they showed much more mercy to the second person known to have had contact with the Murphys.

He made it to lunch without any major incidents (though, when compared to what he was used to, the entire day could be considered a _major incident_ in the life of Evan Hansen), albeit followed by a persistent swarm of gossiping teenagers who were buzzing around him with the same morbid excitement of flies around a fresh carcass.

And then, Jared made an entrance.

He'd heard as soon as he'd made it to school that his family-friend had returned, but somehow, regardless of the loud entourage that surrounded Evan wherever he went, he'd been unable to see him in person, that is until the sea of students herded him towards the cafeteria.

Though Jared wasn't particularly tall, even from the table in the far corner of the canteen it would have been impossible to miss the manic cluster surrounding his generally unimpressive and clearly overwhelmed almost-friend, and he even caught a glimpse of a striped polo shirt backing away from the intimidating huddle enveloping him. His first thought was amusement, quickly followed by pity, and then reproach; he didn't quite know which of those feelings would take the lead when he confronted Evan until he had shouldered his way through the masses to stand face to face with him: he didn't pause to register the dampness of Evan's eyes or the intense fidgeting of his hands before he indignantly accused, "What, been avoiding me, dickwipe?"

Eyes widening into perfect circles, Evan rapidly insisted, "N-no, Jared, of course not, it's just - I mean, _look_ , - it's kind of crazy, it's been a weird kind of day and I just didn't -"

"Didn't even let me know you were here," Jared finished flatly, almost completely successful at hiding the frustration in his expression. "That's _nice_." Before Evan could decide whether he was imagining that Jared was actually _saddened_ by not having been kept in the loop, a smug, critical smirk resumed its usual position on his face. "Looks like you're handing things _fantastically_ , man - who knew you were such a people person? _Wow_!"

As always, the glimmer of humour in his face was entirely at Evan's expense, but it was oddly comforting to return to something familiar amidst the chaos. He tentatively smiled, and quietly confirmed, "Yeah, _no._ "

"So, like, why are you allowed to, like, stay in the hospital whenever you want? Like, isn't that, like, kinda weird?" A freshman barged Jared aside to stand directly in front of Evan as she asked her question - a question a multitude of people had already asked, so much so that Evan had memorized his brief response:

"W-well, uh, Connor and I are really close, so his family, they kind of just wanted me there, and, uh, obviously I want to be there for my friend."

"Damn straight, buddy," Jared chipped in, sending a meaningful glare to the freshman as he moved back towards Evan to sling an arm over his shoulder. His grin grew, both from relishing Evan's obvious awkwardness and from the satisfaction of being able to muscle in on the other teenager's newfound fame. He spoke to the gathering as a whole, but with a specific tone to his words that made it clear to anyone perceptive enough to spot it that he was still taunting his companion, "The two of them are absolutely _inseparable_ \- best friends forever, blood brothers with an oath and everything, they've got a really intense secret handshake, code names, a den, the works!" He nudged Evan, daring him to disagree as he prompted, "Right, Evan?"

"Sure," Evan mumbled through gritted teeth. He glimpsed at a few disbelieving faces, and immediately averted his eyes. _He'd better stop whatever he's playing at before he gives away that the whole thing is a lie._ He tried to shrug Jared's arm away from his shoulders, but he was subtle enough that it had no impact beyond prompting Jared to tighten his grip. He reverted to elbowing the other boy in the side with his cast-arm, a feeble but urgent warning not to spoil the fib he'd helped him to maintain.

Taking no notice, Jared loudly and purposefully declared, "Man, I could tell you things about those two that you _wouldn't_ _believe_!"

The sidelong glance he shot at Evan, with an eyebrow raised and his mouth curved into a grin, held far too much mischief for Evan's nerves to handle. He was begging, _daring_ Evan to let him go on, to call his bluff, to allow him to unveil the truth. And Evan's pounding, swimming head couldn't take it.

" _Jared_!" He hissed through gritted teeth, and grabbed the shorter boy's arm with both hands. "S-sorry, we've gotta - I've got to, uh, I just need a minute, sorry, excuse me," he muttered to anyone in his path as he weaved through the gathered hoard, dragging Jared along behind him. Ignoring the indignant protests, he paced urgently away from the canteen, fast enough to dissuade others who might've attempted to pursue, through the sparsely populated corridors until they found an unlocked, empty classroom, which he immediately shoved Jared into, before closing the door and using his bodyweight against it as a substitute for a lock. Panting, Evan breathed, _"What the fuck?"_

Unperturbed, Jared watched, bemused, as Evan caught his breath. "What, you finally cracked? I guess you must have hit your head on one too many branches when you fell out of the tree." He chuckled at his own joke, before adding, "Hey, at least now you and Murphy will actually have something in common when he wakes up - you're both batshit out of your _minds_!"

"Jared, what the _fuck_ ," Evan repeated, seething, his voice hushed to avoid calling outside attention to their spat, and all the more dangerous for it, "What the _fuck_ was that, in there, in front of all those people, what were you trying to _do?_ Do you _want_ people to find out the truth?"

Rolling his eyes, Jared held up his hands in mock innocence as he denied, "Jesus Christ, I was just trying to get in there before you got trampled to death or had a total freak or whatever. _You_ don't _do_ people, remember?" He still wore a cocky grin, but as a cloud of distrust crossed Evan's face, he flatly suggested, "Maybe it would be better if people _did_ find out you were lying; at least then you wouldn't have to pretend to be something you're not."

Evan shook his head ferociously, doing his dizziness no favours, and his eyes welled with tears of fury as he refuted, "No, no, _no_ , d-don't pretend you were trying to help, or that you were doing it f-for my own good. You were going to _tell_ them, to make everyone turn against me so that you can just sit back and laugh about it with all your friends. T-thats -" his eyes opened wide with disbelief, "that's why you helped with the e-mails, right, so I look like even more of a creep than I already am, isn't it?"

Jared's first instinct was to be offended, until a part of him remembered that he'd given Evan no indication over the past seven years that he had any view of him other than as something to mock and laugh at. He huffed sceptically, and coolly replied, "Look bro, I don't have some big master plan to humiliate you - most of the time you can do that _yourself_ just fine. What I _was_ trying to do was to get your attention: you didn't tell me you were back, you didn't come to fill me in, and I kinda expected that you'd keep me in the loop, since I'm the only person helping you out." He shrugged, as if to pretend he hadn't just said one of the most genuine things to have left his mouth in years. As Evan sniffed, wiped his face on his cast, and shyly peered up at him, Jared smirked - not mockingly, for once.

"Okay. Sorry. I didn't mean - uh, I didn't realize you would... notice. You know, j-just because you don't even like - I mean, we're not real fr - just, I didn't..." _I didn't think you'd care enough about me to mind that I wasn't here_ "I didn't mean to shut you out," Evan apologised quietly, his mind still not quite able to grasp the situation. "S-so you won't - uh, you won't tell anyone, right?"

"Nah, man, not so long as you don't forget about _me_ in your great quest to help the Murphys," he reluctantly agreed, sticking out his bottom lip with a nod. Seeing the other teenager breathe a deep sigh of relief, he ventured to add, "But still, you shouldn't get too wrapped up in all of this Connor stuff... It's not healthy, man, skipping school - in our final year, when you're meant to be getting the grades that'll earn you a scholarship - to chill with a stoner and his fam." He couldn't bring himself to regret pointing it out, even when he saw Evan's unusually pale, sweaty face fall. Committing to speaking his mind, he continued, "When Connor wakes up, best case scenario is that he agrees to go along with the whole secret friendship thing, and the Murphys just let you drop back out of their lives. But you know, he's not exactly the most _cooperative_ guy, so it's probably all going to come out anyway, and the more involved you are right now, the more it will mess up the family when they find out." Evan's face was firmly stormy by the time he finished talking, but there was no denying that it was a reality he needed to acknowledge. Jared shrugged. "I'm just saying."

"N-no," Evan shook his head, "No, you don't - ah..." his neck twitched, and he blinked hard, "You don't know how it's going to turn out. H-he might, Connor might not _want_ his family to know the truth, I mean it sounds like he's already hurt them a lot, maybe he'll go along with it so that they don't get hurt again... Nobody has to get hurt, the whole point is that I'm trying to make it _easier_ for them." He nodded frantically, with the conviction that ignorant people have for conclusions they've worked out for themselves.

Jared frowned, and he couldn't restrain the humour that found its way into his words as he contradicted, "Uh, _no_. Look, bro, he didn't even leave a note. He's not gonna _care_ how they feel, and I really doubt he's gonna keep your secret - it's not like he's your best friend, or anything." He paused, waiting for Evan to laugh at the irony, but quickly gave up when it became clear the other boy didn't find it funny at all. "I mean sure, go along with it for now, do what you've got to do, but just try not to get so involved - don't skip, they should understand, and it'll be better in the long run if they don't get so attached -"

"No, _no_ , y-you don't..." Evan looked frantic as he interrupted, yet he had no more valid points with which he could argue. He recognized a trace of pity as it glinted across Jared's face, and it made him feel physically sick. "Listen, uh, I have to, I need to go." He rubbed a palm across his forehead, justifying, "I have a headache."

"No you don't," Jared replied, palpably unimpressed, "You have a complex obsession with -"

"I actually _do_ , Jared," Evan insisted, turning away and opening the door. It wasn't a lie for once, but the headache wasn't the reason he had to get out. "Just... I've got to go. See you tomorrow, right?" He checked, but he didn't wait for a reply - he was leaving and allowing the door to swing closed behind him before Jared even opened his mouth to respond.

Not knowing whether he should be amused or seriously alarmed, Jared only stared at the closed door, shaking his head slowly with disbelief. Perhaps concern, or even full-out anger would have been the appropriate reaction, but he had _never_ been very good at handling the heavier emotions.

He sighed, and sat down - if Evan was running away, he could afford to take a moment to process. And truthfully, even through just second-hand involvement, he felt so dangerously close to being out of his depth that he _needed_ some time to fully understand what was going on, why his friend was acting so weird, and where he fit into the mess.

 _I'll see Evan tomorrow. At school. And then after school, so we can write some more of those stupid fucking e-mails which are making his lie even worse - e-mails I'm helping him to write, e-mails I told him he had to produce to substantiate a lie I told him to keep telling. Turns out that was terrible fucking advice. Turns out I'm a terrible fucking friend. And that's about it._

"...Right."

* * *

 **A/N: Jared is so much more jealous here than in act 1 of the show, I just figure he'd start missing Evan much sooner if Evan stopped coming to school, leaving Jared basically alone where nobody else is really happy to put up with him.**

 **Zoe is slowly getting some more depth, I'm a few chapters ahead and honestly I'm finding her such a gorgeously complex character to write!**

 **And ALANA IS HERE AT LAST! Sorry for the wait, she just didn't really fit in anywhere before this, but I adore her, I hope I did her justice! Let me know what you think!**

 **Thanks for reading, and I'll try to update soon!**


	7. Chapter 7

**A/N: Hiya, welcome back! Sorry for the slow update, college is so busy. But this chapter is kinda juicy so I hope it's worth the wait! I don't wanna give anything away but something is shifting...**

 **Warnings for mention of skipping medication, and I guess by now you know the drill with Connor. Please, do take care of yourself. If you need some kind of help or support, please reach out, someone will be willing to listen.**

 **Anyway, onwards!**

* * *

 **These Broken Parts - Chapter 7**

The bus rounded the corner just as Evan escaped from the confines of the school grounds, calling out to him like it was destiny that the boy and the bus should arrive there at the very same time. He jogged the few metres to the bus stop, reaching it just as the vehicle pulled up and the doors opened. The driver didn't question why a student had left the school two hours before the day ended, his bus pass was at the top of his wallet, and it bleeped successfully the very first time he passed it over the scanner: It was all too easy for Evan to convince himself that it had been fate that compelled him to leave school to escape the crowds and Jared in favour of taking the bus to the hospital, to see Connor and the Murphys.

Shaken as he was by the day's events, Evan's blank mind raced, tossing a frantic, urgent nothing through his head again and again - there was no solid thought, no planning or pondering, nothing tangible that he could grab onto, yet the sensation of restlessness persisted, building into agitated frustration since he had nothing to concentrate his energy on.

It felt like he'd barely sat down before the bus came to a shuddering halt, terminating at the final stop on it's route. Evan jumped straight out of the seat he'd not gotten around to relaxing into, electrified, and ran off of the bus, ignorant to any traffic circling the parking lot, focused only on reaching the imposing building. _I didn't mean to come here today,_ he recalled faintly, pressing on through the revolving door, _Jared was right, I shouldn't be here: I wanted to take a break, I was meant to stay at school and go back to focusing on getting an education so that I can actually go to college, and I was meant to get used to not hanging out with some crying forty-something year olds and an unconscious stoner, and today was going to be a good day because it was meant to include me getting back to normal. So why am I coming here again?_ He was already just two more turns away from the hallway containing Connor's room in the ICU. _Oh right, because today was a terrible day - about as far from normal as possible - people were just everywhere, near me, talking to me, surrounding me, and then Jared came along and -_

He shook his head aggressively, determined not to relive the memory of Jared's words. He hadn't even been cruel, just perceptive, the other boy had recognised the inevitability of disaster and reminded Evan of it, of something Evan already knew, but that hadn't made it any more pleasant to hear. A strange numbness hung about him, but it was better than recalling the cool, blatant honestly of Jared's protests, or the dread he'd elicited.

Turning the corner, Evan spotted, just outside the second door from the end, Larry Murphy, absorbed in his laptop screen and typing at a furious pace, muttering into the cell clasped between his ear and shoulder. He glanced up as he heard footsteps drawing nearer, and as soon as he spotted Evan, he raised both eyebrows in what he guessed was a gesture of welcome since his muttering mouth was too preoccupied to smile. He quickly terminated the call with a dismissive, "I'll have to call you back," and immediately donned a genuinely warm expression for the boy in front of him. "Evan, hey," he greeted, friendly enough despite the fact that his brow was furrowed with concern. "Is everything... Are you okay? I knew you were going to go back to school today, but I didn't think..." His thin lips pressed together into a line, worry for the teenager and uncertainty about what to say both written there clearly.

He knew from the trembling he felt in his cheeks that his attempt to smile was a million miles away from being convincing, but he couldn't bring himself to do anything else. _I won't burden these people, I can't - they have more than enough problems without being weighed down with mine. He wouldn't get it anyway._ His words were as clumsily chaotic as the pounding of his pulse as he shook his head, eager to justify, "Oh, y-yeah, I'm fine, I-I-I did go but, uh, things just got - I mean, people were kinda... Y-you know?"

Larry nodded sympathetically, as though he truly did understand what had unnerved Evan so entirely. He looked an unexpected combination of hesitant and determined, and it appeared to be with great effort that he slowly, cautiously offered, "I'm sure today was hard, but you did well to go back. You faced it, at least - you should be proud."

"I... thank you," Evan mumbled. He reached a hand to rub at his eyes, and it was only then that he registered the dampness of tears. _Fuck, when did that start? Just here, or on the bus, or, shit, nonononono did I cry in front of Jared? Shit, oh shit..._ At once, burning heat struck into his face, and he felt a wave of warmth rush through him, making him sweaty and red with humiliation. _Great, even Mr Murphy noticed I had been crying before I did, he must think I'm completely pathetic, and too dumb to even realize it. I need to get away from him, he's feeling sorry for me, as if he doesn't have enough to worry about already, I need to go, I need to be away from him._ "Uh... do you mind?" Evan nodded his head towards the door to Connor's room and took a step in that direction.

Taking the hint that the teenager didn't want to discuss his sorrow, Larry nodded once, secretly thankful. "It's been a little quiet in there today: Cynthia's mostly been at home, and I didn't want to be working right there over him, so I'm sure he'd appreciate your visit. _I_ sure do, and I know Cynthia will too." There was much more he could have said, but the only thing that Evan really needed to hear was that he was _wanted._

By the time he was closing the door to Connor's room behind him, the soft tapping of laptop keys resumed. _Hey, maybe Mr Murphy's too busy to waste time thinking about how stupid I must look. I sure hope so._ He turned his back on the door and leaned against it, allowing himself to properly dry the tears from his face, rubbing both fists deep into the sockets with unforgiving ferocity, in the way he was convinced made him look like a tantrum-throwing toddler, the way he only ever did when alone.

As soon as his hands dropped back to his sides, however, he was acutely aware that he was not, technically, in his own company. Straight away his hands came back up, fingertips twisting together anxiously as he instinctively apologised, "S-sorry, I forgot -" Connor's motionless body was a sobering reminder that he needn't feel self-conscious while the other boy was in his current state, and he shrugged with a tense laugh, "- well, I guess you probably don't mind anyway, right?" His gaze dropped to stare at his own feet as they dragged reluctantly towards the chair he'd come to think of as his usual seat. However, it was only once he had collapsed into it that he paused to consider how pointless his sitting there was. _It's not like anyone's even watching, I don't have to sell our friendship to anyone, I'm literally just... sitting here. Which might be even more weird than the whole fake friendship thing. Still, at least no one else is around to see this. Well, apart from...him._ His gaze lifted to settle upon Connor's chest, its rises and falls still being supported by the ventilator machine. The gown he was wearing looked slightly damp from the abnormal amount of sweat his feverish body was producing, but at present Connor himself looked dry, still, and, as Evan dared to hope, brighter than the ghastly grey it had been on his first visit. On this occasion, he didn't hold back as he so often did in the company of conscious Murphys, which was most likely why he ventured to comment on it.

"You... look better? I mean, not much, obviously, b-but maybe a little. Brighter, uh... less dead?" Instantly guilty, he added, "N-no offense..."

 _Oh, sure, he's really going to be offended. I'm sure when you're stuck in a coma after having tried to die, your first priority is to get annoyed at the notion of looking kind of not alive._

His chuckle bordered on hysteria, and he awkwardly justified it, "I guess you probably don't mind that either. But, uh, I just, kinda... I don't really know what to say. It's not even that I have anything much to say to you - you know, we're not exactly, uh, close. Hah, um, I don't..." His voice was distinctly matter-of-fact as he admitted, "I _know_ I don't have to say anything to you, especially if you actually can hear me. It's just that your Mom is pretty keen on it, so, I... I don't know why I'm... speaking to you while she's not actually here." Self-depreciating, he shook his head, balling his fists so tight they dug pink crescent moons into the flesh of his hands, and added, "That's pretty dumb, right?"

He almost thought he'd get an answer, but of course, Connor could offer nothing but stillness.

As for Evan, the limited time during which he tried not to fill the vast silence resulted in him unintentionally holding his breath, half-expectant, half-frightened, the stagnant, heavy air setting inside his lungs, suffocating him slowly as he sweated, squirming in his seat. His head was pounding, the stress, exhaustion and lack of oxygen becoming almost overwhelming.

It was a matter of seconds before he gave in, heaving in rapid, deep gasps, his panic tearing out of him as he laid bare all that had occurred amidst his unsteady panting and grating sobs: "I-I have to say, and, like, I know you d-don't care, you d-don't understand, maybe, t-that's good, that's _great_ , I just have to say it, this was a really t-terrible day, and - and you wanna know why? Because - b-because I f-fought with J-Jared and he threatened t-to tell, and s-so many people were... They j-just kept a-asking and asking and asking all of these questions a-and they were staring the whole day, a-and..." His eyes widened through the onslaught of tears, horrified as he finally realized exactly why he'd felt so exceptionally dreadful throughout the day. "Oh, no... no, no, no, Mom's gonna be so... I don't think I took my - _fuck_ \- I don't think I remembered to take my medication."

His head dropped onto his knees, provoking a surge in his headache, and he closed his eyes, slowly learning how to resume a regular breathing pattern; there was a specific rhythm he had been told to memorize, one that was meant to help after a panic attack, but he couldn't quite recall it, so he resorted to just counting three in and three out, until his heart seemed to be bouncing less erratically within his ribcage. The heavy, unyielding weight of dread still lingered about him, but he could understand why now. Moving slowly so as not to ignite any more dizziness, he reached for his rucksack, digging into a pocket until his hand closed around a small pot of pills - the new add-ons he'd been prescribed only three months ago, the ones he was meant to take twice a day in addition to his usual nightly tablet, _You'll definitely notice if you miss a dose of these, Evan, it's important you keep track, do you understand?_ The doctor had been somewhat patronising when she'd recommended them, but now it seemed she'd been right to doubt him; He quickly swallowed one dry, instantly regretted that decision, and washed away the tightness with a gulp of water.

He wasn't naive enough to think the result would be immediate - it would take hours for his medication to take effect, and despite only having missed a single dose, it could take days for his system to settle back down, but the knowledge that at least he had _tried_ to seize the problem within his own hands and take control was reassuring. "Okay," he mumbled, whether to himself or to Connor not even he could be sure, "That was bad. But it's going to be okay soon, it really is."

This time around, the silence was slightly easier to resist filling, and he didn't even have to hold his breath in order to do so. His sole focus was on staying calm and willing away his headache, and it was only when it began to subside that he opened his mouth.

He was much more reserved when he murmured this time, quiet and careful, treading cautiously so as to navigate the hefty cloud of darkness his slip-up with his pills had left fogging up his brain. "Just so you know... However it might look, I didn't want to lie about you. I really want you to get better. I think your family deserves to be happy. And I..." _I didn't want to make you feel like a freak. I didn't want you to find my letter. I know that's not the source of all your problems, but if that was the final straw that put you here, then I'm sorry._ These words, however, didn't materialize on his lips; instead, it was the sincere mumble, "I really appreciate you having signed my cast."

"Well _this_ is cosy," a familiar, hard voice interrupted, accompanied by the sound of the door opening up. Evan jolted upright, jerking around to stare at the door like a rabbit caught in headlights at the sound, only to breathe a sigh of relief as he recognized the source. Zoe looked just the same as she had earlier, the same apathetic, dubious expression scrawled across her pretty, freckled face. Her eyes darted between her brother and his friend, and the corner of her lip twitched into something like a smirk, not quite friendly as she asked, "I'm not interrupting anything, am I?"

"I - uh, no, no, of c-course not. He's _your_ brother," Evan replied, stuttering through a small smile. "Unless," he quickly added, keen not to intrude where he wasn't wanted, "I can leave, if you want. I don't know, you might... like some privacy? I mean I know you've not been here much, so..." He chewed lightly on his inner lip, his fingertips coming to rest against one another.

Zoe shrugged, effortlessly nonchalant as she strolled to take the seat opposite him. "Not really. Connor and I, we're not really into the whole sibling quality time thing." Her cool smirk grew smug, and she challenged, "You knew that, though, right? I mean, you _are_ an expert, or so I hear."

"Y-yeah, sure," Evan agreed with a vague nod. Two seconds later, he hastened to justify, "Well I mean it's not exactly like I'm an _expert_ , I'm not, at anything - well, maybe trees, actually, not that it matters at all -" the redness bloomed rapidly across his face, _how is that relevant here?_ He shyly amended, "I just, I don't want to come across as some kind of authority on all things Connor." Recalling their encounter that morning, he tentatively pointed out, "I think we both, uh, saw different parts of him. There are probably parts of him that you know way more about than me, you know?"

Zoe diverted her gaze to scan her brother from head to toe, mumbling something unintelligible. Remembering the sorrow he'd seen upon her face earlier, he was actually thankful he couldn't understand.

Nevertheless, that didn't mean he wasn't intrigued by the girl's appearance in the hospital; he knew that she definitely wasn't there to make awkward conversation with him, but from what he'd been told by Mr and Mrs Murphy (not to mention the impression of disinterest she gave off to everyone who dared to ask her about her brother), he'd assumed that she wouldn't want to spend any time at all in Connor's company, conscious or otherwise. He knew for a fact that she hadn't set foot in the intensive care unit since she had stormed out last Thursday, and judging by the idle way she was lounged in the plastic chair, drumming a few fingers absentmindedly in a rhythm against her knee, she wasn't exactly thrilled to be returning.

His own knee was beginning to bounce up and down as he geared himself up to ask about it. _Come on, she doesn't bite, she's really sweet and friendly most of the time, so she probably won't get annoyed at you as long as you're not a total idiot about it. Just ask her - put yourself out there, don't be afraid to interact with people, you're supposed to be getting better at this, remember, what's the worst that can happen?_

"Why are you here?"

"What?" Zoe's head shot up, and her hands stopped playing their tapped melody. She hadn't anticipated Evan would attempt to speak to her beyond a greeting in the first place, and she definitely assumed her muted muttering would have put an end to any further try at talking.

"I mean - uh," Evan smiled nervously, quickly apologising, "That sounded like an accusation, I-I didn't mean for that, because I mean obviously you can come whenever you want, y-you don't even have to..." she raised an eyebrow, and he recognized actual amusement sparkling faintly in her green eyes; It might be at his expense, but his stomach felt delightfully warm from the knowledge that it was _him_ who had managed to entertain her amidst the darkness of Connor's attempted suicide. Regardless of his conviction that she must be barely concealing the desire to start wholeheartedly laughing at him, he also sensed her inviting him to go on, so he rapidly asked, "I just wondered w-why you came back. Your parents kinda said you wouldn't, and you've barely been here, so..."

"And yet _you've_ barely left. My parents are in love with you - I feel kinda bad for _yours,_ though." She smiled wryly, kindness seeping slowly back into her otherwise stern expression. Her voice was the least aggressive he'd heard it since she'd approached him just after her brother shoved him, almost a week ago. It felt somewhat like he was being confided in as she explained, "I wasn't going to. It's just, Mom's been at home most of the day, sleeping for most of it, but pretty much the instant I got home from school she decided it would be a _great_ idea to tear Connor's bedroom apart - you know, clear out his stash of weed and cigarettes, get rid of any belts and shoelaces, throw out old needles, take away his razor, nail scissors, pencil sharpeners, anything with a blade on it." She rolled her eyes, frustration returning as she pointed out, "Not that it's going to make a difference when he actually gets out; he always finds a way to..." She looked momentarily overwhelmed by the many poor decisions and bad habits he could so easily slip back into, cravings that wouldn't just disappear because the means to satisfy them had been taken away. With an echo of helplessness, she shrugged, and instead justified, "I'd rather not be there while she's sifting through all of the reminders of why Connor's in here, you know?"

 _But that doesn't mean she had to come here instead of being at the house. Maybe she_ does _care for him, no, I think she_ must _do, deep down, but it sounds like he's put her through a lot. It's no wonder she's reluctant to start being invested in him, but she's still his sister. I guess she can't help being worried_. "That makes sense," he decided aloud. His heart buzzed when she half-smiled appreciatively in return. Compelled to carry on trying to evoke that beautiful expression, he remarked without pausing to overthink it, "He's looking a little better, don't you think?"

His comment only served to chase the warmth of her smile away; The look she gave him, brows knitted and mouth drawn into a tight, bemused grimace, reflected every ounce of scepticism her voice held as she replied, "You mean, under all of these tubes that are keeping him alive? Sure, he looks _great_." Evan missed the slightly playful inflection to her sarcasm, since his blood was pounding in his ears as his entire face was swallowed by a renewed surge of red humiliation. Zoe exhaled through her nose, the way people do when they're not quite laughing. He opened his mouth to apologise, but she interrupted, "I know, you didn't mean it like that. But actually," she considered, squinting as she surveyed Connor's pale appearance again, "I'd say he looks kinda terrible, by his standards."

That took Evan by surprise. Forgetting that he was meant to be able to spot small things about Connor that weren't quite right, he asked, "W-what do you mean?"

Zoe raised an eyebrow, but didn't query his apparent lack of attention to detail. "Well," she began, "His nails, for one. He's kinda crazy about making sure they stay neat - a single chip in the paint on one nail, and he'll remove all of it and start over again. I don't know, he's obsessive over them, to the extent that it's creepy. But then, if he never leaves the house with a chipped nail, you probably wouldn't know how he gets," She reasoned out Evan's apparent obliviousness carelessly. "Whatever. He'd _never_ let them stay like that." She nodded to the cracked and peeling black polish, which had initially become chipped amidst the chaos of getting him to the hospital, and had since continued to flake off of its own accord. "Then there's his hair; it might look like a mess most of the time, but he didn't grow it out by accident, did he - he _likes_ it long, I think it gives him an excuse to spend ages in the shower, and he really doesn't let it get _that_ greasy: Mom really needs to get some dry shampoo in here or something."

Thoughtful, Evan regarded the teen boy, noticing the glaring imperfections even _he_ should have been able to pick up on. He was a fast learner, however, and he was finding the pattern in Zoe's observations: "I guess so. And, uh, the stubble? It's not... he wouldn't like it, i-it's too patchy, not really very him, right?" _Unless it turns out that facial hair is the one aspect of his appearance that he doesn't mind looking untidy. It shouldn't be, right, or he'd have probably grown a full beard out of pure spite. Well, knowing my luck..._

"Nah, I guess not. Maybe Mom shouldn't throw out _all_ of our razors just yet."

Uncertain whether that was meant as a joke, Evan allowed a nervous chuckle to spill out of him; it transformed instantaneously into an ugly choking sound the instant Zoe's eyebrows shot up, _stupid, stupid, stupid, why would she make a joke about that, how dumb can I possibly get?_ His index fingers both pressed hard into the sensitive skin just below the jagged edges of his chewed thumb nails.

Zoe was blind to the scolding he gave himself internally, too distracted by the noise he made. She couldn't hold back a surprised giggle at the sound, something so loud and grating from a boy who, as far as she could tell, was all soft edges and anxious apologies. And though Evan's face was so flushed it was closer to violet than red, he simply had to grin at her reaction. Glancing away so as to mostly hide the bashful adoration he couldn't help but wear plastered across his face, he mumbled, "S-sorry, that was... _Sorry_."

Zoe flicked her wrist as if batting away a fly, as she pointed out, "You really do apologise a lot."

"Ssss -" he caught himself just before his reply could become irreversibly recognized as an apology, clumsily turning it into, "Sss-so, why, uh, what's wrong with having good manners?"

Zoe huffed through her nose again, visibly amused by his sly segue. Shaking her head in spite of the private smile twisting insistently at the corners of her lips, she decided, "You're weird."

Grimacing, Evan curled even further into his own body, as he acknowledged, "I know..."

The trio slipped into a brittle silence, for once with Evan not feeling the undeniable urge to fill it. It could easily be down to wishful thinking, or the chemical imbalance his late dose of medication had provoked, but he thought he'd felt a moment of connection to Zoe, during those few moments when he'd been trying to navigate his way around the challenges she flung at him and she'd been laughing at his attempts. It felt like there'd been an incremental shift between them; slowly, Zoe's wall was flaking away just like Connor's nail polish.

Even so, he didn't quite trust himself to think about it too hard. From his experiences, the late dose of medication still had at least an hour to fully take effect, but at least his nerves were beginning to mellow, the lump of coal in his chest disintegrating at the edges. His knees still bounced, but they were beyond Zoe's line of sight, and thanks to the soft, worn soles of his trainers, his tapping heels didn't make a sound. He had just managed to prise his thumbs away from working the hem of his polo shirt between them when the girl spoke again:

"It's not your fault I don't want to believe you."

Evan's fragile serenity evaporated. Wide, frightened eyes stared at averted, cool ones. Though his body remained frozen stiff with terror, his heart shot through the bottom of his stomach to crash into the ground, while his mind, unable to escape the confines of his head, raced in frantic circles.

"I mean, it's not that I think you're particularly dishonest - you seem like a nice, ordinary boy," she slowly elaborated, making Evan feel filthy with guilt for deceiving her with every _single_ thing he'd ever told her, right down to his very ability to lie. "It's just weird, you know, to think of him as being... nice. The kind of person _you'd_ be friends with. I've not seen that part of him for longer than I can remember." There was no blame or resentment wrapped within her words, only plain, quiet honesty. Casting her mind back, she dolefully confirmed, "I don't know the last time he actually said something _nice_ to me - not before that letter, anyway: All my hope is pinned on _Zoe_ , I don't know what he could have _meant_ by that, but it was one hell of a surprise to see I got a mention." She chuckled softly, humourlessly. But this time, Evan noticed that her lack of amusement wasn't born of apathy, but sorrow.

"B-but of course you did," the placatory comment burst out of Evan before his brain engaged enough to filter out the casual, unnecessary lies. Zoe raised an eyebrow, _I guess I have to commit to this one now, shit, I wish she'd stayed at home, or that I had, or that I'd actually overthink things that are important_ , "I mean, C-Connor, he, uh, he really... You mean a lot to him."

She regarded him dubiously, scanning his frightened face for obvious tells of dishonesty. Even upon finding none, she couldn't deny the snort of disbelief that forced it's way out of her. Bemused, she rejected the very notion, "I mean _a lot_ to him? My _brother_? Hah, I don't think so!"

Shaking his head, Evan insisted avidly, "No, you do, you absolutely do, he just..." Fumbling for any kind of excuse for why Connor would never have shared his affection for his younger sister, he glanced within himself: "It's just because he's a private kind of person that he doesn't, Uh, he can't always... Say how he feels. Even to the person who means more to him than she'd ever realize, he just doesn't know how to..." He trailed off, shaking his head; he was far too close to exposing the truth of how he felt to go on.

However, his struggle was not something Zoe deemed impressive: before he could even see it happening, Zoe's wall had returned to its full strength. Suddenly fierce once more, she argued, "If he really cared, he could have at least _tried_. He didn't, ever."

"But I - he..." _Looks like I've officially ruined whatever that bonding time was. It was never really going to last, right? I need to go, now, before I slip up; I have more to hide from Zoe than I do from anyone else._ Slowly, Evan rose to his feet, talking as he did so. "He wanted to, honestly. Trust me on that, please."

As he extracted himself from the small maze of chairs by Connor's bedside, Zoe frowned, a jolt of alarm running through her at the tangible prospect of being left there. Though she wasn't overtly opposed to it, the thought made her uneasy, hence her asking, "Where are you going?"

"Uh, home," Evan anxiously smiled, finding something not so far from the truth as he justified, "I didn't want to be here so late today, my Mom's in this evening. I've not seen that much of her these past few days, so..." He paused, looking at Zoe expectantly; he wasn't exactly waiting for her permission to go leave, but he knew that if she'd only ask, he'd stay with her.

As if they'd not exchanged anything more than the briefest of words, she shrugged nonchalantly, her gaze returning to her brother as she agreed, "Fair enough. Well... see you around."

Evan nodded, but didn't reply: as he walked away, his mind was preoccupied, not with worries for once, but with the glorious memory of Zoe's laugh, her glimmering, gold-flecked green eyes filling with humour and warmth, _directed at me, only me, her smile, her face, her laugh..._

 _Zoe Murphy is the one person whose undivided attention gives me butterflies rather than nausea._

* * *

 **A/N: what do you think?**

 **I don't know exactly what it would be like for Evan to have skipped a dose of medication. Actually from my research it looks like the most common type of anxiety medication has quite a long half-life so it stays in your system for longer than just a day, but the effects of possible dizziness, headaches, detachment, heightened anxiety and generally being emotional are based on facts. Please forgive my creative license and if you have any more information about a better way to approach or rewrite this bit, please don't hesitate to educate me. It's a sensitive topic and I honestly want to approach it in a sensitive way.**

 ** _EDIT: I changed like 2 lines of this based off some super useful info in a review from wolfjackle on AO3, just regarding Evan's medication - now instead of having missed his regular medication (most likely something similar to Prozac, which has a long life in the body) he has missed an additional dose of something like buspirone (which is a further anxiety treatment generally taken multiple times a day, and which can have a more immediate impact if you miss it.) I don't wanna specify exactly what he's taking because I just feel I'm not in a position to judge what would be the best and most realistic thing, but hopefully this small amendment is a little more feasible._**

 **So Zoe and Evan are beginning to bond... I can't remember if I've said so yet, but there's gonna be a little bit of Zoe x Evan, then the main focus will become tree bros. This is such a slow burn, even more so because Connor is still gonna be out for a good few more chapters!**

 **But I'm so thankful to you for sticking with it. I welcome feedback of any kind, and also, one part of this chapter I want to address is that Evan thinks that by sharing his problems, he'd become a burden. He has his reasons, but I just want to remind you, reader, that talking to the people around you does not mean you're burdening them, and you shouldn't keep quiet about things just because you don't think someone will understand. There are people who want to help you, I promise.**

 **Well, thanks for reading, let's do this again sometime!**


	8. Chapter 8

**A/N: Hey my loves! It's been a while, thanks for hanging around while I wrote the next update! It's been slow because of college, work, bad feelings, and a few changes to my plot. It's still not completely planned yet so updates might continue to be slow until I have that figured out, but hopefully it won't be so bad. I really hope you enjoy this chapter! I know my writing is a bit slow but I hope it's still something some people like!**

 **Triggers include mention of some heavier drug abuse, about halfway through, though not too detailed at all. As always, please proceed with caution, and take care of yourself.**

* * *

 **These Broken Parts - Chapter 8**

The incessant, harsh beeping of an alarm clock on one side of Evan's head mingled unpleasantly with the metallic melody of his cell phone's ringtone coming from the other side, waking the drowsy teenager with a cacophony of noise on that drizzly Tuesday morning. His eyelids felt heavily over-inflated from his lack of sleep as he strained to push them open, exposing his bleary eyes to the harsh stripes of daylight piercing through the slats of his blind.

His uneven sleep had been mercifully dreamless, but upon waking, the memories came flooding back. Regret was the first thing he felt - images of the previous day flashed haphazardly across his mind, like a slideshow controlled by a toddler: The burning eyes upon him as he walked the halls, the faces and their questions, the claustrophobic crowds, Jared's taunting, talking to Connor, Zoe's eyes, freckles, smile, _lying_ to the girl he loved...

The entire day had been pretty disastrous, but, as his clock reminded him, a new one insisted on charging straight at him regardless of his personal problems. _Sometimes I wish it would all just stop for a while..._ The prospect of hiding in his bed for the next few weeks was achingly tempting; however, just as the tinny beeping on either side of his head persisted, so too would the passage of time, and the better part of him knew that trying to avoid it wouldn't solve anything. Bringing his cast arm down heavily onto the general area where his alarm clock was to turn it off, his right hand fumbled on his bedside cabinet for his phone. Tired fingers clasped clumsily around the thick, rubbery case, and as he drew it towards his face his fingers slipped, accepting the call while simultaneously dropping the phone down the side of the bed, crammed at the bottom of the narrow crevice between his bed and the cabinet.

"Shit," he muttered, hauling himself upright and forcing his hand into the narrow gap, to reclaim the glowing screen. _That really doesn't set a good tone for the day, does it?_ "Sorry," he apologised into the dark gap, "Hold on, I just dropped..." squinting into the grey half-light, he could see the name Cynthia Murphy written across the screen.

It made him wish his phone was lost for good.

"Got it," Evan grunted as his fingertips found his phone once more, holding on tighter this time as he brought it to his ear. "S-sorry, Mrs Murphy, I just dropped my phone. It, uh, it went down into a gap and it was kind of, uh, well I guess that doesn't even matter now I have it back, uh -" He caught himself in the middle of his mindless mumbling with a thick cough. _Gross, I'm sure my morning phlegm is exactly what she wants to hear. No, no, don't freak out about it, that stuff really doesn't matter right now; What matters is why Mrs Murphy is calling me first thing in the morning._ "Sorry. Uh, is something wrong?" _Apart from her son being in a coma, obviously. I guess it can't really get much worse. Oh God, I really hope he hasn't gotten worse, what if he has, what if he's..._

"Wrong?" Cynthia's voice wasn't particularly sorrowful, in fact Evan dared to think he caught the glow of a smile echoing in her words. "No, no, sweetheart, I didn't mean to worry you. I know it's a little early to call, I just wanted to make sure I spoke to you in time."

"I - uh... _Okay_..."

"I'm so sorry I didn't catch you yesterday. But Larry told me how you went to the hospital in the middle of the day. He said..." she hesitated, and her voice softened, the same sympathetic way his Mom's did whenever he came out of an appointment with his therapist and she wanted to probe him as subtly as she was capable of. "You seemed really upset, Evan. He was worried about you, and _I_ am, too - you've got so much going on, and you're doing so well to hold it together, you really are... But there's already one boy in hospital, and it won't do anyone any good to have another making himself sick by putting himself under so much stress." She waited for his response, expecting an agreement, only to hear nothing. Thus, she gently elaborated, "Evan, it was brave to try going back to school, but please remember you're allowed to take off all the time you need. We made sure that they would make special allowances for you. Maybe it's better for you to be here, if going in is going to upset you."

There was nothing demanding in her words - Cynthia had never been particularly good at asserting authority, and she definitely wasn't about to change her ways by ordering a stranger's teenage boy to watch over her son. Nevertheless, perhaps it would have been easier to refuse if she _had_ been strict; as it was, her fond, sympathetic, honeyish tone evoked nothing but pity from Evan. _Oh_. _She wouldn't ask if she didn't want me there. Maybe she really_ needs _me to go back to the hospital, rather than school._ "I... guess."

"I don't want to make you feel under any pressure," she hurriedly reassured him, "we just don't want you to feel like you're not welcome around us, or Connor. We _love_ having you here, so..."

 _Jared told me I shouldn't spend so much time with the Murphys, and he really made a good point: It's not healthy, it's not normal, it's likely to hurt them, and hey, I guess it really is fucking weird..._ The right choice seemed so clear, dangling before him just waiting for him to grab it; but Cynthia Murphy was waiting with bated breath on the other end of the line, hanging on his reply, hanging on his _every_ word as if he was her tether to sanity - and maybe he was. _Well, he's hardly had a nice thing to say to me in almost a decade, so maybe I shouldn't even bother talking to Jared about this. He doesn't get it, he said so himself._

Set on his choice, Evan nodded, then remembered Cynthia couldn't see him, and verbally confirmed, "Sure, I'll be there."

* * *

"Well, I hope that's sufficient to satisfy your sister. Maybe she'll come back to see for herself, huh? That would be really lovely, wouldn't it?" Mrs Murphy was beyond expecting her that her son would reply if she could just find the right question. With no anticipation of a response, she sighed to herself, content for once. Evan could see and hear her through the ajar door, but knocked before he entered out of courtesy. To his great relief, she beamed at the sight of him, and invited, "Come on in, sweetheart. Oh, mind you don't breath too deeply," she warned him with a warm chuckle the instant she saw his nose crinkle as he stifled a cough, caught off-guard by the strong medley of artificial scents: it hit him squarely in the nose and mouth almost as soon as he entered the room, and it immediately became clear it wasn't just the commonplace cleaning chemicals he could smell. There was a pungent tang of alcohol, something vaguely similar to strawberry, and another scent he could only describe as chalky. Combined, it made for an unpleasant concoction when it hit the back of the throat, hence Evan's grimace as he asked, "What's been going on?"

There was a distinct glint of pride in Cynthia's expression. The doting mother explained, "Zoe told me she thought Connor would flip if he could see the state he was in, so I figured I could at least put _that_ right." Guilt began to stir in her eyes, as if she blamed herself for not having noticed it on her own, but she blinked, and the beast seemed to have been tamed as she continued, "A shave, a bit of dry shampoo and nail varnish remover, and there he is - back to being our handsome boy again." She carded her hand through his freshly washed ( _maybe_ freshened _would be the more accurate term?_ ) and brushed mane, tender as she marvelled at the sight of her firstborn.

Evan looked, too. He was clean shaven, as he always recalled Connor being, and (though Zoe had insisted Connor always kept his hair fairly clean) his curls were brighter than he'd ever noticed them. His fingernails, however, hadn't been repainted, and the cheap, flaky paint had ended up staining them a bizarre, faded grey-green. _I bet he'd always repaint them, as soon as the last colour got taken off,_ Evan decided, though truly he had no foundation for his belief other than what he'd heard second hand. He didn't mention it. "Looks great," he nodded, taking the chair opposite Mrs Murphy, lifting it off the floor when he pulled it out to sit on so as to make the least noise possible. _Carefully does it, I don't want to disturb Mrs Murphy's good mood by being all clumsy and loud,_ he fretted, on high alert due to her rare cheerfulness. _Not that she's not allowed to be happy, but..._ his gaze drifted again to the teenager lying in the bed. "So, uh... is there any news? You seem..." He shrugged, not quite sure whether it was acceptable to point out that she appeared to be happier upon that one morning than she had for the whole time he'd known her up until then. Nevertheless, the shift in her was undeniable, and he felt it wouldn't do to let it go without a mention.

He got the impression she knew exactly what he meant when the corners of her eyes crinkled, her smile reaching even further up her face. "Not much, at least nothing definite... But today is going to be a good day." Preoccupied with Connor's hair, Cynthia remained oblivious to the way Evan tensed, eyes open wide, at the line that sounded so similar to the opening of one of his letters. If she heard his breathing stop suddenly, she showed no sign of it as she carried on, "Zoe was here. She came to see him, and she noticed what wasn't quite right with Connor's hair and nails, and she asked me to fix it. It's the most interest I can remember her showing in Connor's wellbeing in years." Tearing her eyes away from Connor to Evan, she bashfully admitted, "It's early days, and there's such a long way to go, I know that. But with Zoe starting to acknowledge that she _has_ a brother, and knowing what Connor wrote about her in his letter, it's those little things that just make me think... I _know_ it won't be easy for her, for _either_ of them really: Connor hasn't been very good to her these past few years, and I can't expect her to just forgive him, but it really gives me hope that she... that maybe _soon_ they can start... being _siblings_ again."

Evan averted his eyes at once, unease twisting in the pit of his stomach. _Right, because all Connor's hopes are pinned on Zoe; nope, that's just_ me _again - great. Okay, it doesn't have to be a_ complete _lost cause, does it? Maybe a near-death experience will make Connor want to evaluate his life, change his ways, fix the relationship... Oh sure, and maybe Zoe Murphy like-likes me, I mean that's about as realistic as Connor being softened up by his failed attempt, I guess Jared's right and I really_ am _completely delusional. Hit my head on one too many branches on the way down._ He forgot to conceal his bitter, self-loathing smile, but fortunately, Mrs Murphy assumed that his expression was intended to be happy.

Gradually becoming accustomed to how the generally quiet young man would often leave conversations dangling in silence if he had no further comment to make, Cynthia didn't hesitate to continue talking as though he had replied, "I feel so much better about all of this when there's something I can do to help. Not just making him all pretty again, but making sure that when he comes home, it's going to be to the best possible environment for him to recover in."

 _Okay, good, that's good - that's her doing something that makes her feel better, not another of my lies. So it's not so bad, right?_ Trying to muster as much interest as possible into his words so as to keep her talking about something that wasn't built upon his well-intended lie and spare his guilty heart, he recalled, "Yeah, Z-Zoe told me you were cleaning out his room. Uh, so he doesn't have any... Just, uh, well, d-drugs to smoke?" He managed to hide a wince as he recalled Jared's criticism for making that same faux pas days before, _smoking drugs? That isn't realistic at all, it doesn't even sound like Connor!_ "And, uh, t-to inject, and, I don't know, whatever else he does, I'm not quite clear on it." He bit his lip, anxiously watching Mrs Murphy's face in the faint hope that she'd assume his pathetic cluelessness was down to a reluctance to speak to his alleged best friend about his harmful habits, rather than his complete utter ignorance of what Connor _really_ did.

Brows drawing together, Cynthia shook her head, evidently accepting of Evan's answer; as trusting an individual as she was, she wasn't in the habit of looking for inconsistencies or oddities in what other people told her, and she clearly had far more pressing details to focus on, as she quietly confirmed, "Based on what I found in his room, his... habits... were much worse than I realized. I knew about the pot, and I knew that he'd been doing much harder drugs before he went to rehab - God, I hope _most_ of the things I found yesterday are from back then - but I didn't want to believe what the blood tests showed, about him using heroin again." Raising her eyebrows in what Evan recognized from experience as a sign of harsh self-criticism, she told him, "I hoped the results were just skewed by what he had in his blood following his attempt, or something, I just didn't want to believe he was using again without solid proof. That's ridiculous, isn't it?"

"N-no, no, you just want..." bending his opinions to ease the guilt of others was becoming second nature to him. "You want to see the best in him, you want to give him the benefit of the doubt, because, uh, b-because you know, you know he can, uh, h-he _could_ be better." His instinctive response was to excuse her naivety, recalling some of the things his own Mom told him when she sensed how hopeless he felt, _I know you're going to be better, you'll be just fine, if you can buck up then people will get to see the best of you..._ _I bet Mom looks at me the same way Mrs Murphy looks at Connor when she knows I'm not looking: pitying, sympathetic, wanting to help but completely at sea..._ He was struck quite unexpectedly with the notion that he'd somehow betrayed his mother, having spent so much time with the Murphys rather than her, telling the Murphys that their son could learn to let them in when he'd shown his own mom no sign that it was possible for estranged parents and their sons to become close, and in that moment the guilt writhing within him wasn't solely because of his deception of the Murphys any more.

Cynthia's mouth was slightly open in a soft gasp, but she didn't get the chance to tell Evan how thankful she was for his perfect understanding of her position: the same hollow, clanging tune as had contributed to waking him up that morning was emanating from his pocket, and, thankful for the reprieve, he excused himself, "Sorry, I'll t - uh, I just don't wanna disturb you, so, if you don't mind - I'll take this outside." Evan waited for Cynthia gesture of leave before he backed out of the private room and shut the door behind him.

When he pulled out his phone and checked the caller I.D, he was taken aback momentarily; it seemed as though thinking of her had mysteriously prompted his Mom to reassert her presence in his life, since it was the familiar, fuzzy old selfie of the two of them lighting the screen. Mentally preparing himself as much as he could within the space of two seconds, he answered the call, "H-hey, Mom. I thought you were working."

"Hey, sweetie," the sunshine in her smile was palpable even over the phone, "Well I was, but it turned out those health and safety forms needed to be signed off by my supervisor and he's only in once this week, so I came home in my lunch break to collect them so I can hand them in now."

"... Okay?" _And how does this relate to me? I didn't do anything to show I'm not at school, did I?_

"Well, I was looking for them, and I saw you'd left a couple of your school books on the counter. English and biology, I thought you'd probably need them, I can drop them off at school if you want - save you getting in trouble?" Though Evan knew the detour would cut into her working time and undoubtedly have to be made up at the end of her shift, she sounded eager, almost desperate, to help him.

 _But taking my books to the school can only do more harm than good._ He vaguely recalled how he came to take the books out of his bag the night before, having intended to glance over his practically non-existent notes while he waited for his microwave meal to heat up. He would have re-packed, or at least taken them to the safety of his bedroom, if he'd had any intention of going back to school. As it was, however, he hadn't. _Come on, think, think, give an excuse, you're a great liar nowadays, there must be something_. "Uh, no, it's fine. I already had those lessons this morning." Heidi began to speak, her concern evident, so he quickly reassured her, "I didn't get in trouble, though, I just, uh, I explained it to my teachers and they were really understanding, so... it's all fine."

"Wait, you..." Heidi couldn't help but clarify, clearly stunned, "You went to your teachers, you _spoke_ to them one-on-one? But you never do that, you won't even e-mail them to ask about homework..."

"Yeah, well... It needed to be done, so..." Evan managed to make his reply sound nonchalant, though he knew that his mother was precisely right about his chronic avoidance of interacting with his teachers. _If only it was really that easy... If I'd actually done that today instead of been here, I guess I'd feel pride instead of shame. No, I'm not ashamed, I'm not doing anything so terrible, right?_

"Oh wow, sweetheart..." Heidi was genuinely impressed with his fib. "Well done, Evan. I'm really proud of you, honey!" She chuckled, and her son envisioned her closed-eyed, beaming face as she relished the small victory.

"Uh, thanks."

"I mean, _wow_ , I just - I know we said you'd try and put yourself out there, but I didn't think it would be this quick!" She exclaimed, rapidly getting carried away with her relief.

While he took hold of his cast and ran his fingertips along the rough fabric, the guilt manifesting around Evan latched onto him in a similar way, running its talons across his heart. His throat tightening, Evan urgently muttered, "Mom, it's not a big deal." _Don't make me feel even worse about lying to you, Mom, please - this one's not even that big, it doesn't matter so just let it go, please._

"No, it _is_ , sweetheart - this is a really big step for you, isn't it?" Heidi's voice was quiet, and all the more sincere for it. "We should, um we should definitely do something, we should celebrate!"

"Mom -"

"No, we could have dinner together, and watch one of your favourite movies, and maybe I could even stop on the way home to pick out -"

"Mom!" Evan's forceful warning put an end to her excitable planning. Instantly feeling bad, he explained, softer this time, "Mom, I'm sorry. I just don't... want to make a big fuss over something that's really just... S-so small."

There was a pause, during which the teenager waited with bated breath for the woman's response. Eventually, she sighed, and agreed, "No, okay, of course..." He wished he could have convinced himself he imagined it, but there was a definite echo of an apology in her words as she backtracked, "You're right, this isn't a big deal. It's just something _new_." At once, her demeanour had shifted into cautious nonchalance, and Evan realized she'd made up her mind that inflating the significance of what he'd supposedly done might make the prospect of any further progress too daunting for him.

 _Well, that works for me._ "Yeah. Thanks, Mom. But, uh, I s-should go, I have class, I've got to -"

"Of course, you can't miss class on my account - you've got scholarships to work towards!" She teased, comfortable once more with their conversation. "Hey," she added, in a stage whisper, "I'm still proud of you. Okay, honey, bye."

"Bye." He swiftly terminated the call, thankful beyond measure that he'd gotten rid of his Mom before a medic came strolling by loudly talking about something that he could never pass off as ordinary hallway chatter. Shoving the clunky device back from whence it came, he released the breath he'd been unintentionally holding since he'd pleaded for her not to overreact. _Great: now I'm officially the worst son in the world. Not only have I not been telling Mom what's going on, but now I'm outright lying to her too, and giving her false hope, and depriving her of something to celebrate, and slacking when we both know I'm gonna need to work harder than anyone else to get to college... Talk about collateral damage._

He sank against the wall. A small groan of despair escaped him. A nurse walked by, throwing a pitying glance in his direction, and his face flushed red.

"Oh, my god," he muttered, his own ears the only intended recipient, "I need to get it together. Okay," he pushed himself back to his feet, "Gotta do something - I've got a to help, or all of this..." he didn't need to finish the sentence for the message of his private pep-talk to set in; it was all too obvious that he needed to redeem himself by shining some kind of light amidst the bleakest of situations, else all of his lies were worthless. "Let's go," he reluctantly instructed himself, and trudged back into Connor's room, bracing himself to meet Cynthia's palpable excitement with a convincing smile of his own. "H-has, uh, what's... going on?"

"I was just thinking," Cynthia gladly divulged, "You've been friends with Connor so long, but we were never properly introduced, were we?" Evan shook his head, _there's a reason for that_. "Well, I think it would be lovely if you could find the time to join our family for dinner, it would be a really good chance for us to get to know one another!" She seemed genuinely enthusiastic, and it made a startling difference from the passive, mournful or reminiscing woman Evan had grown accustomed to seeing. Even amidst her little spats with her husband, Evan hadn't previously seen her quite so determined as she was when she leaned forwards, taking hold of one of his limp, clammy hands and softly insisting, "We'd really love to have you, Evan. Will you join us?"

 _Oh my god, oh my god, I am getting in so deep, this will kill her when she finds out how welcoming she was to a total creep, this is a bad idea, I need to stop, stop, stop, please give me a way out -_ Cynthia squeezed his hand in between both of hers. Like a puppet responding to its master, his mouth opened without his conscious consent, "Yes."

Mrs Murphy relaxed back into her seat, clasping her hands together with evident satisfaction. "Good, I'm so pleased! So does tonight work for you? I thought I'd cook some - actually, no, as the guest, _you_ can choose, I'll make anything you want. What's your favourite?" The way she asked, her hazel eyes gleaming as though she truly wanted to know, made him feel sick and safe simultaneously.

"Y-no. A-actually, uh, tonight doesn't really work for me, I'm sorry," he excused, recalling how he'd practically forced Jared to choose a day to continue writing the backdated e-mails. _I already skipped school. If I go back on that, too, he'll tear me apart. Maybe literally_. "S-sorry, it's just that I, uh, have plans. Um, m-maybe tomorrow?"

"That's alright, tomorrow is perfect," Cynthia agreed, with the kind of confidence only a woman who knew she could host any guest at the drop of a hat could possess.

Briefly, Evan wondered (with a hint of longing) what it would be like to live with a mother who was always available to cook some homemade delicacy suitable for any circumstance, before forcing the thought away. _Don't be so ungrateful, Mom just offered to cook dinner for once, she tries her best. Just because she's not always around, doesn't mean she cares any less._ "O-okay. Thanks."

"No problem, Evan," Cynthia replied, still smiling sweetly, clearly planning away already. "And if you don't mind my asking, what are you up to tonight?"

"Just... You know, catching up with a friend?"

* * *

"Ding ding, the deception train is coming into the station. What's up, man, you ready to write some more heartless lies?"

Jared's facial expression was less than impressed when he opened the door to Evan, but his loud greeting reflected none of that reluctance. Glancing beyond the shoulder of his sort-of friend, Evan hissed, "Can you _not_? God, if someone hears - your Moms aren't home, right, they wouldn't have just heard -"

"No, they're working. It's just you and me, bud. You, me, and my laptop - and if _that_ doesn't sound like the beginning of a gross but unexpectedly pleasurable encounter, I don't know what does." He winked suggestively, actually cackling his sordid amusement as he saw Evan cringe before his eyes. "You coming in or what?"

He stood aside, and Evan squeezed past him, but didn't begin to lead the way up the stairs; it had been years since he'd felt comfortable enough in the Kleinman household to venture anywhere without being explicitly told to do so. When Jared closed the door and turned to face him, however, Evan wished he'd taken the initiative to just head straight up to his room. The other teenager's raised eyebrow seemed to suggest Jared knew precisely why Evan was still stood uncomfortably in the middle of the hallway, and the only remark he could make was, "Dude. Seriously."

That was the only encouragement Evan needed to jog up the stairs, supporting his broken arm with a hand as he did so, just in case he tripped. "So, uh, how was school?"

Following behind him, Jared scathingly shared, "Should have found out for yourself. Your fan club was _devastated_ you weren't there. Zoe's back to taking the brunt of everyone's questions, though she's not as compliant as you. Poor girl, she must feel so abandoned without you there. Don't you feel bad?" Before Evan could reply, Jared continued critically, "Nah, I guess you wouldn't: You're getting used to abandoning people, aren't you?" They'd reached the bedroom, and Jared flopped down into his spinning chair, wheeling it around to face the other boy.

At once, Evan felt like he was in an interrogation. Shuffling over to perch on the edge of the bed, he slowly replied, "I'm not abandoning anyone - Zoe can handle it, she's strong. And so can _you_ , especially when I never said I'd definitely be back in school today." Subconsciously, his hands came to rest on the duvet, taking hold of the fabric and clenching his fingers in it. "J-Jared, we're..." he hesitated, seeing how bizarrely inanimate the smaller boy's face was. "We're cool, right?"

"Oh, sure," Jared replied with blatantly feigned nonchalance. He turned to his laptop screen, focusing on his log-on details to avoid meeting Evan's gaze. "It's just that, after all I said yesterday about the hospital messing you up, you decided to go back today. It's just getting kinda weird, bro, you _know_ that. Shit, I'd go as far to say it's _creepy_ \- you're a creep, Evan, you're _really_ creeping on the Murphys at this point." He glanced momentarily at the reflection of Evan in the screen of his laptop, and with grim satisfaction he noted the guilt emerging, turning down the corners of Evan's mouth. "But you still chose to ignore my amazing advice, so I guess you're just gonna keep on making this shit with the Murphys weirder than is has to be?"

"Well Mrs Murphy... She invited me back," Evan confessed, his words barely audible through his scarcely moving lips, as though they longed to slip by unnoticed. "S-she was worried about me, she seemed to really care," Evan added, realizing only as he said it allowed that it had been that sensation, the feeling of somebody _caring_ so fully about his wellbeing, that had acted as his main motivator. "I guess I just wanted to be... There." _Where I'm actually wanted, by people who aren't too stubborn to tell me so. People who talk to me like I'm a human being, rather than patronizing me like Mom or making fun of me like Jared. People I can actually_ do _something for, not just be a burden to._

Evan had been staring intently at his lap, too anxious to look up and see Jared reading his mind, scorn etched on his face at how pathetic he was being, but he could feel the familiar sensation of judgemental eyes upon him even so. He balled both hands into fists, the duvet still clutched firmly inside them.

Mercifully, Jared didn't press Evan for a deeper analysis (he had the sneaking suspicion that he wouldn't find the answers amusing at all) but attempted to change the subject, "Whatever, man, enough about you. So the weirdest thing happened today, right, I was just -"

A muffled ringing from Evan's pocket interrupted him. Instantly, the other boy's interest was focused solely on his mobile, and he completely disregarded Jared's story in favour of answering. He spared only the briefest look at the caller ID before accepting, and concluded from the photo-less screen that it must be Mrs Murphy, since she was the only person to call him apart from his Mom and he didn't have a picture of her. So he was taken by surprise when, upon holding the phone to his ear, he heard not the tired but friendly voice of Cynthia Murphy, but the chirpy, over-enthusiastic greeting of Alana Beck:

"Evan, hey! How's everything? Is Connor doing okay? Oh, and did you come up with anything yet? I know you've not had that long to think about it, but if you have something then I think it's definitely worth getting started as soon as possible, and I'm great at organising things so you don't need to feel daunted by it, and also I had a thought of my own I figured I could run past you, oh but I just realized that maybe you'd like it better if it's a total surprise, or... Hello?" The overwhelmed silence at the other end stopped her in her tracks, suddenly unsure whether her intended recipient was even there.

"Yeah... Uh, hi," he replied shakily, trying to assemble his thoughts into something coherent with which to respond to her flood of inquiries. "Uh, C-Connor's fine. I mean he's in a coma but he's not any _worse_. And... What was I meant to think of?" _She must have mentioned something yesterday, but the whole day's a blur, it feels like that all happened weeks ago._

He hated the way her excitement audibly wavered as she gently reminded him, "You know, any ideas on how I can - how _we_ can - go about helping the Murphys, and showing our support. You, um... You told me you'd try to think of something, remember? _Is_ there anything?"

"Oh yeah, um..." _Damn. That was pretty low on my list of priorities until right now_. "N-no, nothing yet. I'll let you know if I think of anything, though," he assured, determined this time to actually try and remember to consider something nice they could do, and to keep his word on the off chance that something occurred to him. _I didn't mean to disappoint her, I guess I'll just have to try harder, find something simple we can do to boost the Murphy's morale, or... something_. "But what where _you_ thinking of doing?" He asked, in an attempt to remind the girl that, regardless of his own self-evident incompetence, she had herself mentioned a plan of her own invention.

In his imagination, the rapid whirring of Alana's brain was audible; in reality, that was merely her hum as she deliberated, before ultimately deciding, "No, I think I'll let it be a surprise. After all, _you_ need cheering up too - Connor _is_ your best friend." Her cheerful optimism returned with full strength, and despite his suspicions that she often had to force herself to seem so hopeful, he was simply relieved she wasn't outwardly irritated at him.

Aside from the fact that it was based on an enormous lie, Evan was genuinely touched by how thoughtful Alana was being. Struggling to articulate it, he simply mumbled, "Thanks, Alana," before coughing awkwardly into the phone.

The girl chuckled, "Well, I'll let you go, I've got some things to sort out, but I'll see you!" As if she was just as keen as he was to stop talking on the phone, Alana hung up as soon as she'd said goodbye.

Relieved, Evan looked up at Jared, only to find that the boy had swivelled around in his seat to stare directly at him, a mixture of envy and reproach lurking in his eyes. Evan's expression must have asked why that was, because without verbal prompting, Jared remarked, "That was Alana, huh? Yeah, she's really into the whole support-Connor thing. Did you see her blog? Basically the entire school has posted a message, and Connor's really all anyone can talk about right now. I guess that's why people are so interested in _you_ at the moment."

"I... I guess so," Evan muttered, anxious about where Jared was going with this. He released the duvet in favour of digging his thumbnail into the tip of each finger, one at a time, systematically, so that he had something regular and familiar to focus on rather than the knot in his stomach.

"But you know, not to burst your bubble or anything, teenagers have short attention spans. As soon as they all work out that he's not dying, people will remember how much they _don't_ care about Connor. They'll find something else to talk about, some kind of celebrity scandal or freak hurricane or something." The leather spinning chair squeaked noisy as he leaned forward, pushing his glasses up onto the bridge of his nose so as to scrutinize Evan. It wasn't his intention to come across as abrasively as he did when he stiffly reminded him, "When people stop caring about Connor, they'll stop caring about _you_ , too, and then things will just go back to normal. You know that, right? It _can't_ last much longer."

"Maybe not," Evan's reply was both quieter and faster than Jared had anticipated. The guest seemed twitchy as he countered, "Maybe people at school will decide they don't care, but maybe I'm _fine_ with that. It doesn't matter anyway, the Murphys won't lose interest in Connor and me, it's gonna be fine. Hey, did I tell you, me and them, w-we're having a family dinner together tomorrow, and -"

"Wait. Hold the fuck up," Jared interrupted, holding up one hand for silence and scooting closer on the chair. "You're having a family dinner with the Murphys. You. _Family_ dinner. The _Murphys_ ," he spoke slowly, patronising the other boy, a bemused grin slowly spreading across his face. "Oh my _god_. You do realize that they're not actually your family, right? They're not _adopting_ you."

"I know," Evan rapidly agreed, "but still, they want me there, so they can get to know me a little better, so -"

"So you agreed, knowing they're gonna interrogate you about Connor again and you're gonna end up making your lie even bigger," Jared summarised, unsure whether he was more sympathetic or amused at the disaster of a mistake Evan had made in his desire to help. Pity finally won through, and with a shake of his head, Jared found himself asking, exasperated, "Bro, _why_ are you doing this?"

Evan looked away, embarrassed to admit the truth. When he gathered the courage to do so, he was so softly spoken that Jared had to pull his chair even further forward just to be able to catch it. "They need me."

"Uh, _no_ , you need to see how messed up that is: literally the only reason they want you around is because you're lying to them, and once they actually find out the _truth_ , they won't want you anywhere near -"

 _"Well they want me now!"_ He hadn't meant to snap. The aggression tore out of him without his consent, roaring defensively at Jared before backing down equally quickly, the lion reassuming the shape of the lamb as it timidly retreated inside him. "S-sorry," he softly apologized, eyes wide with the fear that his outburst had offended the other boy. "I didn't - I just want to... help the Murphys. Really. You know?" He shrugged, helpless as he himself struggled to describe any kind of logic behind his own thought process.

"Sure, I get it," Jared responded, his tone of voice dangerously flat and humourless. Evan couldn't quite distinguish whether that was because he was worried, offended, or just concealing a threat. "Just so long as you _are_ doing it for the Murphys, to help them with _their_ feelings rather than to validate _yourself_."

"That's... T-that's not what - since when did you care about the Murphys' feelings anyway? _You're_ the one who's told me to keep going with this. I wanted to tell them, remember, but you wanted me to carry on telling them Connor and I are friends -"

"Yeah, I thought you might visit the hospital a few evenings a week and then fill me in on the situation, not bunk school for the foreseeable future to get all cosy with a bunch of strangers!" Jared retorted, laughing incredulously despite the undeniable anger causing his words to shake. "I'm just saying, it seems like you're enjoying all that family time a little _too_ much."

"Yeah? Well what do _you_ care?"

As harsh and impulsive as it was, a part of Evan genuinely wanted to know what exactly qualified Jared to lecture and malign him when he'd done nothing but torment him for years, before Evan had become a part of the current _thing_. The other boy regarded him with an expression that might have registered pain momentarily, unless that was a trick of the light. Either way, it quickly settled into a mask of practiced, cool indifference.

"I guess I don't."

Evan looked away, fidgeting once again. Mumbling under his breath, he pleaded, "Can we write some of these shitty e-mails and not talk about this?"

"You bet."

As a stubborn, stony silence fell upon the teenagers, Jared turned his back on Evan, leaving the other boy to pick anxiously at his jeans. Regardless of his own frustrated demeanour, Evan couldn't help but doubt himself - doubt the legitimacy of his intentions - as his family friend's words sank in. _He's wrong, I don't enjoy lying, I hate the hospital, and missing school, and being around Connor, and watching his family tear itself apart, and -_ memories interrupted him, contradicting his apparent loathing of the situation: Larry telling him he should be proud of himself, Cynthia holding his hand, smiling, thanking him, telling him how much her family _wanted_ him, Zoe sitting with him, talking to him, joking with him... Laughing, _Zoe's laugh, the way the light bounces off her hair and reflects like stars in her eyes, the map made up of her freckles, and her smile;_ _There's nothing like her smile._

He didn't dare voice his fears, out of the pointless superstition that doing so would make them that much more real. But he couldn't deny, though he was convinced his main motivation was a duty to the Murphys' well-being, he was beginning to recognize more personal perks of telling such an enormous lie.

* * *

 **A/N:** **Ooooh another Evan and Jared argument, daaaaamn. I'm slowly increasing what we see of Heidi and Cynthia (and I know someone mentioned my Cynthia isn't written as so much of a nitty gritty multifaceted character as Larry, that's mostly because I think her main flaw is naivety, while his is his unwillingness to show his emotions. It basically means I'm going to keep writing Cynthia as a total cinnamon roll until it comes to conflict time, because I think that's when the worst part of her will make itself really known.)!**

 **Wolfjackle on AO3 gave me some amazing insight on Evan's medication, and I made a few small adjustments to the last chapter using that information, nothing huge though. Maybe check it out, or not.**

 **I'm so thankful for you for taking the time to read my writing, and I'm so open to your constructive feedback, so please let me know what you think!**


	9. Chapter 9

**A/N: Hiya! Welcome back, and Happy New Year! Hope you had fun over the holidays, and maybe you're now back and ready for a fairly cheerful chapter! I promise this story wont stay so dark forever (But it will get a little darker before it picks up). This chapter is pretty comparable to If I could tell her, but I hope it's not toooooo samey, and I swear its leading somewhere deeper.**

 **Trigger Warnings: Mention of blood, also referenced drug abuse. Please take care of yourself, don't read anything that might be too upsetting for you xxxx**

* * *

 **These Broken Parts - Chapter 9**

Evan could almost convince himself that his return to the hospital the following day was predominantly motivated out of spite, a wish to make a point to Jared. But not quite - the feeling of welcome that seemed to engulf him when in the company of Mr and Mrs Murphy was far too strong to deny, so much so that he was almost tempted to stop refusing it. Then again, he was becoming so accustomed to lying to other people that it didn't seem fair, somehow, to be honest with himself.

He left the hospital early in the afternoon, coming straight home to ensure he'd have adequate time to prepare for dinner with the Murphys: he hadn't been inside their house, but he could recall the route, and the appearance, from when he and Larry had stopped there the first time he'd gone to visit Connor. It was much larger than his own home, and infinitely more intimidating; though he considered himself well acquainted with the whole family, being with them on their own home territory somehow made the prospect much less appealing, and knowing that the whole family, fractious relationships and potent disagreements included, would be sat around that table was doing no favours for his nerves. It was bad enough when Larry and Cynthia quietly quarrelled in the hospital, or Zoe angrily complained about her parents or her brother when it was just her and Evan, but with all of them together, in such close proximity and with nothing to keep their anger from bubbling over, he feared the dinner could quickly turn nasty.

By the time he'd combed and gelled his hair, and narrowed his wardrobe down to three possible outfit choices, his stomach had been flipped over so much with nerves he felt positively travel-sick. Dizziness tugged at the edges of his consciousness, and Evan was forced to grip hard to the fabric at the helm of his shirt, for fear that, if he didn't hold on to something, he might fall. Eyes shut tight, he slowly stumbled to sit on the edge of his bed, trying his utmost to keep a panic attack at bay, _breathe, hold, breathe, hold, breathe, hold... Come on, so close, you can do this..._

He concentrated every ounce of his attention on the sensation of the polo shirt fabric between his fingers, the dimpled, light material, the way one layer bumped along across the other as he rubbed it between his sweating digits, the way it pushed his nails away from his fingertips when he dug in hard.  
Tentatively, he dared to open his eyes. The first thing he saw was the selection of shirts he'd been deliberating between. His eyes were drawn to the purple one, and the tan trousers beneath it, _purple, purple is a good choice, it's smart and comfortable, I'll wear the purple shirt. It's going to be okay._

On any other occasion, he would have called Jared, enduring his merciless jibes in exchange for the advice or reassurance he might slip in somewhere amidst his criticisms. But he and Jared had barely exchanged a word throughout the entire time they were writing e-mails the night before, and Jared had kept sighing and shooting him looks of disapproval, and his intense discomfort had meant Evan had left not long after they'd begun. Now, he was convinced that his repeated absence from school would have consolidated Jared's anger, and the other boy probably wouldn't even answer if he called.  
 _Which is fine_ , he told himself, _I can do this without Jared, he'd only tease me anyway, and tell me I'm going to mess up. I know the Murphys, and they know me, I'll be fine. And Jared, well... He has all his other friends, doesn't he. And if his parents decide to stop paying for his car insurance, that's not my problem._

Evan rose cautiously from his bed, and made his way towards the wardrobe, preparing himself to change, however just as he was pulling the shirt off of the hanger, he heard the front door opening downstairs, and the familiar sound of his Mom shuffling in, laden down with carrier bags probably filled with yet more paperwork about the various conditions of her patients, or frozen pizzas and a selection of other microwave meals she would have picked up on her way home from work. At her deliberately loud sigh (which he knew by now was a sign that she was about to come and investigate what he was up to), he abandoned his plan to change, rapidly closing the wardrobe door and flinging himself back onto his bed, dragging his laptop towards him as he did so and quickly opening a browsing tab in case she ventured to ask what he was doing. _If she asks, just say homework, that's not something that's at all unfeasible. You're just doing, uh, research, not changing, not getting dressed up smartly, not preparing to go out._ Forcefully reminding himself not to act in any way that could be considered suspicious, he refrained from telling her even a slim sliver of the truth; he knew she'd most likely be delighted to hear that he was going to have dinner at the house of another boy in his year, but he dared not risk it, lest that mangled attempt at honesty transform into a confession of exactly what had come to pass to take him to that point. No, instead he remained staring intently at the empty search bar at the centre of his screen, managing to glance up with convincing nonchalance when Heidi knocked on his door, poked her smiling face around the frame, and entered.

"Hey, you. You look like you're kinda busy, watcha up to?" The woman inclined her head as though she was genuinely intrigued, her wide smile that reached all the way to her tired eyes reflecting just how much she'd missed her son amidst her busy schedule.

"Hey. Uh, it's just homework. H-how was work?" Despite his palms growing palpably damp, Evan consoled himself with the bitter irony that he was so much of a clumsy conversationist all the time that she wouldn't notice anything out of the ordinary in his shifty demeanour. Heidi Hansen couldn't even pinpoint exactly when the last time they'd had a comfortable, easy, unforced conversation was, before every tiny thing her son did and said became tainted with his anxiety and overthinking. Her heart continued to ache anew with maternal inadequacy every time she noticed it, but it had been going on for so long that by now, she was accustomed to the pain.

"Oh, you know," Heidi shook her head and heaved another sigh, taking his engagement in the conversation as an invitation to walk further into his bedroom. "Same old old people, the same old issues - the same threats of budget cuts and the redundancies that might lead to -" she grimaced and raised her eyebrows in mock fear, before chuckling at Evan's face of concern - brows drawn together, lips pouting, just like when he used to beg her to be allowed to stay up late to watch his favourite cartoons when he was a kid.  
Blinking away her reverie, Heidi brought herself back to the present, _Evan's not a baby anymore, but he has enough on his plate without adding my worries to the mix._ Her son didn't miss the self-doubt lurking behind her smile as, hesitant, she came to perch on the edge of his bed to calmly reassure him, "It's not really going to be anything for you and I to worry about, I'm sure of it. You know me: I'll cover anyone's shift, I'll work over the holidays, I'll even do back-to-back nights. They wouldn't be able to get by without me!"  
When Evan didn't immediately respond, she insisted, "If anything, it's motivation for me, that's all; it just goes to show that there's a good reason I'm working all of these extra hours, that it's really worth going to these classes to try and start a new career, even if that means I have to spend so much time away from you right now. You..." her words faltered, and one of those rare occasions occurred when Evan could see plainly how insecure his mother was. Biting her lip, she reached out a hand to pat his cast, hopefully checking, "You get that, don't you?"

"Y-yeah, no, yes of course, I'm just... I just feel bad for you having to do so much," Evan rapidly confirmed, thankful to see the relief return to his Mom's face.

Crisis averted, she stood once more, reverting to her forcefully casual chattiness as she remarked, "Well, if you feel bad enough that you want to help me out, you could start with tidying your room. I won't be around to pick up your dirty laundry when you're away at college, you know!"

Heidi began toeing a few discarded bits of clothing into a pile on the floor, but she didn't stick at the menial task for very long, since she'd just remembered something she wanted to discuss with him. Returning to sit back on his bed, she segued, "Speaking of college, I meant to ask - have you heard of these scholarship essay contests you can enter? There was an article about them on the news this morning, so I figured we could look into it; I spent my whole lunch break researching them, and honestly there are just a million different things you could write about, a million different topics!" Not pausing long enough to allow her son to either agree or argue, she cupped a hand around his face, squeezing one of his cheeks affectionately as she insisted, "It's just, I know it's obviously another bit of work to think about, but I know how great you are at writing, and we could definitely use a little extra money for the expenses, so this seems like a really neat solution."

Nose wrinkling, Evan extracted his face from her cool hand, uncomfortable at the contact as he mumbled, "Yeah, I-I guess, uh, that sounds cool." Sensing his face gradually redden, he glanced up at her hopeful expression, unnerved to see a lingering hint of doubt still remained there. _No, no, please don't worry about me, you have enough to worry about yourself..._ Attempting to speak with conviction, he added, "I'll definitely look into it."

"Okay," Heidi nodded, slower now, conscious not to pressure her boy with her enthusiasm. "Hey, look, I know you've got a bigger workload than before this year, but I know you can manage it. And these essays, I just thought -"

"Yeah, no, no, I know, we'll need all the help we can get for college," Evan swiftly agreed, "don't worry, I will look into it." _Just please don't make a fuss. Anyway, at this rate I won't even need college, I'll just become a professional grief assistant or something._

His mother surveyed him, a frown of concern continuing to mar her otherwise happy face. Nevertheless, she was believably optimistic as she agreed, "You're not wrong. But hey, we'll work it out. I already know that college is going to be so great for you: the perfect chance to turn over a whole new leaf, start all over again somewhere new. How many chances do you think you get to do that? You're gonna love it, I just know it." The fond sincerity in her gaze was almost enough to make Evan believe her - he _wanted_ her to be right, naturally he would have loved the chance to start a whole new life, _be_ a whole new person, yet the nagging voice of reason reminded him that he wouldn't transform into a whole new persona simply because he was at college.

Regardless, Evan forced himself to muster a shy smile, nodding at his Mom and causing her grin to grow even brighter. "Yeah. I can't wait!"

Heidi nodded, and stood, satisfied that her son was doing well - _better_ , perhaps, than he had been for some time, since she didn't remember the last time he'd sounded so optimistic about college. She didn't neglect to notice the reticence behind his enthusiasm, but for Heidi, the fact that he was at least willing to show a brave face was proof enough that he had it in him to be alright, to go to college and muddle his way through the confusion and chaos, and finally be happy. "Good. I'm -" internally, she scolded herself for hesitating just a fraction longer than she should have, knowing how foolish it was to feel unsure about praising her own son but unable to make the words materialize freely for fear of them smothering him. _You're his Mom. That's your job, who's gonna do it if not you?_ "I'm really proud of you, honey."

* * *

"Evan, hey, sweetheart! Welcome, welcome," Cynthia Murphy seemed to radiate fondness the instant she opened the door to the by-now familiar teenager. At his bashful, evidently nervous smile, she laughed, enveloping him in a quick, tight hug. Everything about her greeting was genuine and warm, yet somehow it was in direct contrast with the house itself; the tiled floor and white walls gave off a distinctly unwelcoming air, as though the house itself didn't want to be lived in. Nevertheless, the comforting, homely scent of baking and fresh laundry engulfed Evan as she ushered him into the hallway, "Come in, make yourself at home - here, let me take your jacket."

"Uh, thanks," Evan consented, shrugging off his coat and hastily remembering his manners, "Your home is really lovely. T-thanks for having me."

Cynthia shook her head, eyes wide with feeling as she insisted, "No, thank you for coming. Honestly, Evan, it means so much to finally be having one of Connor's friends over for dinner, even if... Of course, today he can't... Well, I wish the situation was different, but it's a joy to have you here," she settled decisively on her response with a single nod, "Honestly." She reached out and squeezed Evan's cast arm, her fingertips lingering to trace the obnoxious scrawl taking up all of one side. By now, she knew Evan well enough not to expect him to reply to everything she said, so she didn't pause long enough for him to feel uncomfortable at not having much to contribute, swiftly continuing, "Larry's at the hospital, but he's just about to leave. Zoe's in her room, and I'm just finishing up dinner, it should be ready in about twenty minutes, but until then, please feel free to wander around... You're very welcome here, Evan."

The way she placed such emphasis on that last part made Evan wonder momentarily if Cynthia had come to recognize just how exceptionally uncomfortable he felt in situations such as this. _No,_ he reasoned cynically, _she surely wouldn't pick up on my issues after one week, it's taken her 17 years and a suicide attempt to realize her own son isn't well._ Instantly, he felt guilty for his harsh judgment, his only salvation coming from the knowledge that he hadn't actually voiced his criticisms. Hurriedly adjusting his face to appear more kind (and, he hoped, less terrified), Evan mumbled, "Okay. Thank you."

Mrs Murphy had half begun to turn back to the kitchen when she stopped, suddenly recalling, "Oh, I had a favour to ask you, if it's not too much trouble..." she trailed off, allowing the anticipation to build as though it might make Evan share some of the excitement glimmering in her gaze. His hesitant nod prompted her to explain, "I wondered if you might be able to sort out some music for us to take to the hospital and play for Connor. The only time he ever plays music out loud is when he's blasting his awful screamy stuff," she wrinkled her nose, evidently displeased at her son's tasteless choice, "and I'm not playing that in the hospital. But if there's anything a bit less aggressive that you two like to listen to, then I thought it might be nice to let him hear it, you know?"

His gaze darted to the floor as he considered what to say. _I know people say listening to a favourite song can sometimes have the same impact as hearing a familiar voice on a person in a coma. I also have no clue about what Connor likes, but really how hard can it be, I could just pick something vaguely appropriate and I'm sure they'd never know it wasn't his kind of thing..._ his moral compass urged him to retreat, but Evan ignored it. It can't do that much harm, not compared to the other things I've said. "I think that sounds like something I can definitely do, y-yeah." He made a special effort to keep the speed of his nod slow, so as not to reveal his guilt or discomfort. His fingertips drummed against his ragged, nibbled thumbnails, quietly betraying him.

Whether or not she actually registered his growing anxiety, Cynthia didn't mention it. She merely squeezed Evan's shoulder, affectionate and grateful, before turning around and making her way back towards the kitchen from whence she came.

"S-so I'll just..." His dry throat meant his words came out as little more than a croak, one so hoarse and quiet that his words evaporated into silence. His attention drifted to the stairs, and, with nothing to do but explore the house, he cautiously made his way up to the first floor landing.

It was only when he was half way up that he began to fret that he should have taken off his shoes before coming up here; the dense, plush carpet was a bright, airy cream, not yet old enough to have even become thinner at the centre of the steps, and suddenly he was acutely aware of how grubby his old, grey trainers were in contrast. _You should have worn nicer shoes than this anyway, who goes to dinner in someone else's home in the same trainers they wear every day? They must think I'm such a slob, I could have made so much more of an effort._ His steps became even more hesitant as he continued to overthink, _I bet the Murphys don't have a pair of casual trainers between them. They seem like the kind of people to actually use them for exercising. Shit, should I start only wearing trainers for exercising? Is that what other people do? I don't even do sports, so should I just change to formal shoes indefinitely?_

His bizarre chain of thoughts was a testament to his scatterbrained fear, but as he reached the landing, the anxiety lifted from his mind, ironically thanks to the sole person who made him more nervous than ever: drifting from the crack of one open door was the calming, fluid sound of guitar strings being plucked, no doubt by Zoe Murphy. Accompanying it was the low sound of his crush humming along - not a song he recognized, but a massive comfort nonetheless.

Zoe's talent never failed to amaze him, but never before had he been granted the privilege of hearing her play alone. Even when she performed with the jazz band, her bluesy chords were always accompanied by a plethora of other instruments, and though Evan unfailingly honed in on her music when they played, it was hard for him to ignore the clang of a triangle or the addition of drums. Now, however, it was Zoe alone who was playing, and never before had Evan been able to truly appreciate her intricate skill. His eyes fluttered closed, and for the briefest of moments he imagined himself following the sound, nudging Zoe's door further open and watching as well as listening, in reverent, awed silence. He imagined she'd glance up, and her private, amused smile would grow at the sight of him, and he'd smile back, warmed by the sunshine beaming from her face.

But no, his eyes swiftly snapped open, logic waking him up with the stark reminder that his dream was one that never stood a chance at coming true; If he interrupted her, he was certain Zoe would stop playing, instead fixing him with a vexed, suspicious stare as she inquired what exactly he was doing in her bedroom. No smiles, no affection, no music - nothing, because truthfully, there was nothing between them, beyond perhaps acquaintanceship at a push. That was a scenario he'd much rather avoid, so instead of Zoe's bedroom door (which he had instinctively drifted closer to, entranced by the melody) he turned to the door beside it and pushed it open, quickly stepping inside as if going in fast would somehow allow him to pretend that this room had been his target all along.

Immediately it became clear who's room he had just entered - he shouldn't even have been surprised, since he seemed to just keep finding new ways of tying himself to the boy in the hospital; naturally, it was _Connor's_ bedroom that he found his way into. He knew Cynthia had cleaned, but it wasn't the faint scent of disinfectant that made the room feel so empty. The dull, muted lilac-grey of the walls amplified the sharpness of the light from the window, causing the dying September sun to seem almost vicious as it struck the dusky room. From what Evan had so far managed to gather about Connor, he was mostly unsurprised by how the room was decorated: Connor hadn't done much in the way of personalizing the place with anything less generic than a few stickers depicting middle fingers or weed. It appeared he'd gone out of his way to remove anything that perhaps held a bit more meaning some time ago, since the only thing now on the otherwise barren walls was an array of bluetack stains and a large pin board, in which a few pins held tattered scraps of torn corners of paper in place. The photos or notes they had once been part of were long gone, leaving behind a patchy paper mosaic which commemorated nothing but chronic loneliness and a wish to escape from the past. A desk sat in one corner, fully stocked with stationary that looked almost as untouched as the textbooks piled up on top of it, and the other corner held a wardrobe, as plain and unremarkable as the rest of the room.

A single fraction of the place suggested that it might actually be inhabited by a teenage boy with his own life and personality and interests, and that was the corner closest to the window, where a small, cluttered shelf stood between the bed and the wall.

That was where Evan headed, for want of something more human than the rest of the room. On top of the bookshelf, catching in the bleeding light of the red evening sky, he counted six bottles of nail polish, all, as far as he could tell, fractionally varying shades of black. He picked them up one at a time to read the labels, surprised to find that they all had different names: _Charcoal,_ a dark grey, _New Moon,_ plain black, _Midnight Sky_ , navy-blue, _Concrete Jungle,_ another greyish one, _Onyx_ , which Evan couldn't actually tell apart from New Moon even though they were the same brand, and an unnamed, slightly reddish colour that reminded Evan of the rusty stain just beside his feet, _dried blood._

A wave of gratitude that he'd kept his trainers on washed over him.

Tactfully stepping around the uncomfortably dark patch on the grey carpet, Evan took a seat on the bed to better investigate Connor's bookshelf. It wasn't completely stuffed with books, which Evan had kind of expected, but there actually _were_ quite a few there, and that took Evan by surprise. A few tattered comic books sat on top, all _Spiderman_ \- his own favourite had always been _Wolverine_ , but he could remember reading a few about Connor's preferred hero once, when his mom had bought him a whole collection of different comic books as a kid. Maybe that was something they could talk about, a single thing they might have in common. He'd never really thought of Connor as much of a reader. Then again, he didn't have an awful lot to base that judgement on.

He wasn't an expert in technology, but the speakers set into the shelf looked expensive at a glance, the kind that could be connected to a phone without a wire. Maybe his parents didn't approve of Connor playing his music so loud, but they'd given him the best equipment with which to do so.

The further along the shelf he looked, the worse he felt about prying. Nevertheless, he couldn't bring himself to stop: he couldn't help but be intrigued, since this was the closest he'd ever gotten to actually understanding something about the boy he claimed to share such affectionate friendship with.

A lamp, a pair of tangled earbuds, and a glasses case came next, _I've never seen Connor wear glasses in my life. But then, would I have even noticed?_ Somehow, regardless of how sharp his observational skills may or may not have been, he was fairly sure Connor was the type of person who'd rather struggle in silence than give in to wearing glasses.

There was an old Nintendo DS, coated in dust, and Evan hated himself for the stab of envy he felt upon laying eyes on it - it wasn't like it was a particularly recent version, and they were more marketed towards kids anyway, so he really couldn't blame Connor for evidently not having used it recently, but even so, he remembered with sickening clarity how he had begged his Mom to buy him one for his birthday when he was eight, only to throw a tantrum when she explained that it was too expensive, _now Daddy's gone we can't always get exactly what you ask for, sweetheart, I'm sorry, please don't cry._ He winced, moving on.

He found a couple of CD's of bands he didn't recognize, but judging by the covers, he guessed they were the style of music Mrs Murphy would prefer to avoid. A pack of cards was propped up in front of ( _meant to be hiding?_ ) a rust-coloured ashtray, with a few cigarette loose inside. Then there was an empty (he discovered after shaking it) red tin, which puzzled Evan for all of three seconds, before he jumped to the conclusion from the smell that it had until recently been used to store Connor's weed (though why Cynthia had removed the drugs and left the box, he couldn't say. She'd evidently re-purposed a bong, using it as a vase to hold a few plastic flowers on the windowsill, maybe she could have used the weed tin as a plant pot.) Quickly moving on, his gaze fell upon the last item on the shelf, a large black sketchbook, crammed right at the edge.

Momentarily, Evan toyed with the consideration that perhaps looking inside would be an invasion of privacy, but he ought not to have hesitated, since the moment he laid eyes on it he knew it would end up open. _Besides,_ Evan grimly reminded himself, _he read my private therapy letter. I think I can look at a couple of sketches without feeling too bad._

He flicked open a page. His conscience warned him not to spend too long pouring over each piece to overanalyse what it might reveal about his so-called friend, so he scanned the book fairly fast; Connor was good, it seemed. He caught glimpses of realistic sketches of people, faces and eyes and mouths and noses and hands from different angles, then there were some still life drawings of fruit and bottles and battered old boots, and then there were detailed drawings of leaves and flowers and gardens blooming with intricacy, and then a few images of the same clunky, old fashioned, surprisingly charming car, and then the delicacy of skill vanished altogether. The second half of the sketchbook was crammed with pages upon pages of messy, meaningless, dark scribbles, the occasional haunting doodle done clumsily, heavily, in biro. He only had to see a couple of pages of that section before he snapped the book shut and hastily stuffed it back on the shelf.

He checked his watch, _ten minutes til dinner, that's all, you won't feel so uncomfortable when you're not completely alone_. As it was, however, he could feel the moisture gathering in his palms and at the nape of his neck, the itchiness of the skin beneath his cast growing, and instinctively his fingertips began twisting the duvet in his hands, digging in tight as he tried to do anything but think too hard about exactly where he was. He was half-tempted to call Jared for want of some kind of distraction, but his hand stopped, hovering above his pocket as he remembered that they weren't on the best of terms, even by their standards. _Come on, just sit here for ten minutes, you can do that, right? What kind of person can't even bring himself to sit down, surely this has to be the simplest thing I've done all week._ But it wasn't the concept of waiting, rather the location in which he did so, that was doing such an effective job at reducing him to a shivering puddle of nerves. _You can do this, Evan. Just... just breathe, right, breathe, it's going to be okay..._

He was so focused on existing within his own mind that he didn't notice the music in the next room coming to an abrupt end before it was too late:

"What are you doing in my brother's room?"

"I'm not!" his immediate, defensive reply shot out of his mouth before he could think of anything less blatantly suspect. Zoe raised an eyebrow, and Evan flailed helplessly, struggling to get a grip on his brain before he said anything else so completely stupid. "- n-not, uh, I-I'm doing nothing, I'm not doing anything, I'm just, uh, just waiting for dinner." The skepticism faded from Zoe's face, yet there was a slight delay before it was replaced with any other identifiable emotion. He looked away, staring instead at his lap. "Your Mom said to just look around, so..."

"So you made your way to Connor's room. Makes sense," Zoe remarked, strolling nonchalantly towards the bed. She hovered before the stain, as if unsure whether crossing it would be somehow disrespectful, and walked around it instead, perching on the bed with her socked feet scuffing the muddy brown mark as she swung her legs back and forth.

At once Evan released his tight grip on the duvet, bringing his hands back to his lap. He was acutely conscious of how close he was to Zoe, and he wasn't quite sure whether he was thankful or frustrated that the stain on the floor had placed a gap between them.

They sat without speaking for seconds which almost stretched out into hours, Zoe inflating and deflating her cheeks, unsure of herself. Meanwhile, Evan observed out of the corner of his eye, lacking the boldness to actually look directly at her, bitten nails digging into his fingertips of their own accord. Eventually, Zoe sliced through the dense silence with a heavy sigh, "It feels weird in here."

 _She's not wrong._ Despite having no previous experience to compare it to, Evan was inclined to agree, "Yeah... yeah, I know." He dared to look at Zoe, but his gaze snapped back to his lap the second their eyes met, his speech picking up pace and his tongue tripping over the words as he justified, "B-but you know, soon, when Connor wakes up, he, he'll come back, a-and it won't feel so weird any more, and then things will get better." _God, that's so cliche. Maybe my sessions with Dr Sherman are actually rubbing off on me._ He shuddered at the thought of himself slowly transforming into his therapist, spouting patronizing, reassuring lies in a frustratingly slow voice, _God, I hope Zoe doesn't think of me the way I think of Dr Sherman_ , but thankfully, Zoe didn't notice his self-reproach.

She was too busy shaking her head, understandably cynical as she mused, "I really don't understand you. It's like, sometimes you get things, you see it way clearer than my parents, but then sometimes..." She couldn't help her doubtful half-sneer as she reiterated, "Things are going to _get_ _better_ , just like that?"

"No... No," Evan admitted bashfully, backtracking, "Not better, not right away. But, uh, I guess little by little, you know?" _Yep, I definitely sound like Dr Sherman now. Years of therapy and all I've learned from it is how simple it is to make people believe the things they want to be true if you just speak slowly and sound like you know what you're talking about. I mean, how hypocritical can I get,_ I _wouldn't believe me._ Regardless, he said, "Things will go back to how they were, and then they might get a little closer to normal, and, uh, well eventually things will start to feel okay. Not completely _fixed_ , obviously, but just a little bit more alright." _Wow. I think that's actually a verbatim quote from one of my first sessions, and look how that advice has turned out for me._

He couldn't quite distinguish whether Zoe chuckled or just sighed. He made up his mind that it must be the latter, given the sombre tone with which she spoke: "Evan." It wasn't a question, but the way she said his name compelled Evan to summon his courage and look directly into her unsmiling face, intrigued and enraptured nonetheless. Though she had been the one to address him, she herself struggled to make eye contact. Her mouth twitched as though she had to forcibly push the words out, "Do you actually... Look, you know Connor. Do you actually think - _can_ he get better? I mean _ever,_ I know it won't be quick, but do you think he'll ever be... Okay, I can't even remember a time when he was normal, it's been going on for so long now that I just don't think..." She shook her head, words failing her, but the absence of speech communicated her uncertainty with greater clarity than any amount of talking could.

There are times when it's kinder to tell a small, optimistic mistruth than confess your own apprehension. This, Evan knew only too well from all the times his Mom had warped her hopes into promises. The thing about the future is it's volatile; If he told Zoe things would work out, there was at least a _chance_ he might turn out to be right. And if he didn't, well, it wasn't like he had the power to control things that had yet to happen:

"H-he can. I know it. You'll see."

It took every ounce of self control Evan possessed to refrain from looking away, but it was worth it. Zoe blinked, and when she opened her eyes she was looking straight at him, a slight smile curving her lips. She wasn't exactly challenging him, and he couldn't quite be sure, but he thought he caught a flicker of something teasing, as she murmured "How?"

"Uh." _She's not serious_. Venturing to lighten the mood, he reached for something less intense, "I guess, uh, starting with... Starting with his nails." She quirked an eyebrow, inviting an elaboration. _Okay so it's one heck of a pledge, but I actually think this is something Connor might actually appreciate. I owe him that._ Mostly convinced he'd actually be able to carry it off, he donned a smile as he explained, "I'm going to... Paint them."

The fading sunshine was nothing compared to the radiance of Zoe's amused grin. Skepticism still clung about her eyes, but for the most part she seemed genuinely cheered as she shrugged, "Okay, be my guest..." She hesitated, turned around, and plucked a bottle from Connor's shelf, the dark blue one. "Use this one," she instructed, offering it to the other teenager.

Delusional, a part of his brain had the nerve to pretend she intentionally allowed her cool, calloused fingertips to brush against his sweaty palm and linger there fractionally longer than necessary as she deposited the nail polish into his open hand. He felt his pulse spike, as if his heart itself were trying to fling itself towards her.

"So you're actually _staying_ for dinner, right?" She retracted her hand, smile melting away once more as the weight of reality returned to her mind. He sensed from the inflection that her simple clarification was asking something more than what it seemed, but for the life of him, Evan couldn't figure out what. He merely nodded, only to instantly regret it when Zoe went on, "Which means you won't run away this time when I ask you why exactly you think Connor doesn't hate me."

 _Ah, crap. Denial._ "I didn't, uh, I didn't run away," he mumbled, but even he could tell it was far from convincing. The bemused snort beside him was actually something of a comfort; _at least I'm making her laugh, even if it's only through being so pathetic. No, come on, you've got to buck up..._ "But if it seemed that way, then I'm sorry. No, it's just Connor, he really... you mean the world to him. He talks about you all the time, he..." a stroke of genius came upon him: "He listens to your music, through the wall, he thinks it's really, really beautiful."

The honesty in his words wasn't an act when it came to praising Zoe. Even if it wasn't technically what Connor thought, Evan was convinced that it should be. Zoe's expression softened incrementally, in the way it never did when they discussed her brother. "He loves hearing you play, and seeing it too, especially, and he always says you get this smile, this look, it's just, it's the most amazing..." _it's the sweetest, most honest smile, just pure happiness and a little bit of secrecy, but not so secret that you're shutting anyone out. It's like you're letting me be part of your happiness, when you smile that way you do when you're playing guitar._ He stopped himself before he got carried away embellishing a kind of admiration that was altogether too affectionate for a brother to have for his sister. "He likes to see you looking happy," he concluded instead. "It kind of reassures him, makes him feel better."

Just like that, the minuscule trace of siblingly affection vanished, replaced with fully fledged scorn, "Yeah, right."

"No, no, it does, _he_ does, I swear it's - he -" _No, don't put that wall up again, please._ For the second time in a matter of days, he'd felt the beginnings of a real, meaningful connection starting to bloom between himself and Zoe; this time, he didn't want it to come to an end so quickly. Swallowing the nerves that threatened to spurt out of him, he mustered all the composure he could manage to solemnly insist, "Your smile, there's nothing like it. It doesn't matter how lost, how alone you might feel, just seeing you smile, getting to watch you play guitar while you're smiling like that, it makes all of that just fall away. It's like... it's like it makes you feel something, something good, something... something real."

Zoe hadn't broken eye contact, and, for once, Evan didn't feel like he needed to, either. He hadn't noticed whether it was himself or Zoe that had leaned in closer, but he was suddenly acutely aware of how close she was, her eyes, her freckles, her lips...

"... Evan, you're too-"

He only heard his name. Deaf to the protest that was about to form, he darted in, squeezing his eyes shut tight and clumsily closing the gap between them. His nose clunked into hers, but he was more concerned with the clash of their mouths bumping into one another as he tried impulsively to kiss a girl for the first time, and then her hands were on his shoulders and his face wasn't touching her face any more, but her cheeks were red, her eyes wide, her lips drawn into a thin, tight line like she was purposefully tucking them out of sight, and she was staring at him like she'd never seen him before.

"Zoe, Z-Zoe, oh my god I'm so -"

"What are you _doing?"_

* * *

 **A/N: I did warn you, it's basically If I could tell her. Still, I must indulge myself with some Evan and Zoe stuff. And some stuff about Connor's room and some stuff with Heidi - its taking a while to build up these characters but honestly all of it will come together!**  
 **In personal news I got to go back to my councilor and I'm feeling much better about life since talking to her, and I've also been finding myself less prone to writers block so that's helpful too!**  
 **Thanks so much for reading this, genuinely seeing that there are some people who have viewed my work gives me such a lift. Please let me know what you think! See you next time xxx**


	10. Chapter 10

**A/N: Hi and welcome back! Hope you're ready for an emotional bunch of exposition regarding my personal headcanons! I mean there's some juicy and relevant plot stuff too, so I mean I hope there's something in that as well. But really this has just been my most fun chapter to write thus far. So yeah! I hope you're all doing really well, anyways.**

 **Trigger Warning: Discussions of a previous suicide attempt (Not graphic and not successful, but more than just referring to Connor as having been suicidal) Proceed with caution and know I love you.**

 **Also there is a fair bit of swearing - the kids are stressed. And also a description of a nasty rehab (disclaimer: I have never been to a rehab and I'm not totally sure what's legal and what's not, it's just my estimation of a terrible experience). It's gritty but it picks up at the end. Anyhow, let's go!**

* * *

 **These Broken Parts - Chapter 10**

 _Shit. Shit shit shit shit shit. Shit._

Evan half-stood, not fully upright since his knees were trembling far too much to allow that, clumsily backing away from the aghast girl before him with his hands held out in front of him, to make sure she saw he was keeping her at least at arms length. The vague idea drifted into his head that he must look like a criminal looks just before getting arrested; he certainly felt like he deserved to be locked up away from the world, somewhere he couldn't mess things up even more.

"W-what the -"

His head was shaking so much Zoe was reduced to a blur in his vision, but the image of her stunned disgust was burned into his brain like a garish, ugly scar. "Oh my God, I'm so, s-so, so -" he blinked hard, the tears stinging behind his eyes and his words already becoming thick and painful from having to crawl up past the sob building in his throat. _No, no, the only way this could get worse is if I cry in front of Zoe._ "I have to, I h-have to, uh, I'm sorry, I'm _s-so_ sorry." With a raspy crack in every word he forced out, his sentence seemed to be giving way, words plummeting down into a great, vast nothing, and Evan felt like he was falling right along with them.

He fled so fast his feet barely seemed to touch the stairs: the front door appeared to swing open of it's own accord as if it was recoiling away, and the grunt of surprise as he raced past Mr Murphy, followed by the disappointed exclamation of Mrs Murphy, seemed to come from very far away - unless that was just the impact of the ringing in his ears.

Blinded by now unreserved tears and the memory of Zoe's betrayed expression, Evan simply kept on running, oblivious to his surroundings, the harsh slap of his trainers on the pavement the only evidence that his brain hadn't left his body behind in the rush to escape. He didn't quite know how long it was before the throbbing of his left arm, _crap, the doctors said I wasn't meant to do anything physical yet,_ and the burning of his lungs became too intense for him to carry on, and he staggered to a breathless, undignified halt, doubled over, cradling his spongy, pulsing left arm against his heaving chest, suddenly exhausted as the adrenaline melted away.

It took a few moments for his dazed mind to recognize his surroundings; even in the open air, he felt as though the world was closing in on him, ready to swallow him whole. The weight of his guilt squeezing at his chest, pressing on his lungs and taunting his pounding heart, made him feel even more claustrophobic, like he was stuck in the gullet of a beast, except judging by the look on Zoe's face _he_ was the only monster around. _I have to go somewhere, I can't just be nowhere right now, I need to just not be alone right now, I just want to be somewhere safe. I want my Mom. Mom's at class, it's Wednesday so she's at class, why is she always at class?_ He was at the side of the main road, a twenty minute walk from his empty house and fifteen from Jared's. Briefly, he considered pitching up on the other boy's doorstep and explaining the whole thing to him, apologizing profusely for offending him and begging for his forgiveness before he fell apart and told him precisely how he managed to fuck up everything with Zoe, _his parents said I was welcome any time, Jared told me he hated me not keeping him up to date on what's going on, and I could really use a friend right now, I need to let this out..._

He took a step, then paused. The mantra that had haunted him for years whispered in his ears, _family friends, family friends, that's a whole different thing, family friends, and you know it._

Maybe he urgently needed a friend, but he really wasn't convinced that Jared _was_ one.

There was someone else, however, who Evan could trust not to mock or judge him, who wouldn't respond with laughter or scorn, who would patiently allowed Evan to talk and talk until the words ran dry, and who wouldn't go and share his secret confession. He could simply sit and talk, unload some of his burden to someone who wouldn't criticize him, someone who, just maybe, might have been able to comprehend the loneliness that had been behind all of Evan's bad decisions. It was only ten minutes in the other direction.

Without even having recovered his breath, he continued towards the hospital.

* * *

Connor was lying just as Evan had last seen him that afternoon, the blanket uncreased, the machines beeping regularly, his skin pale and his loose hair splayed across the pillow. Without hesitation, he strode purposefully into the room and collapsed into his usual chair, every last ounce of strength or resolve leaving his limbs the instant he touched the plastic seat. There was no need for him to build up to an emotional outpouring of feeling this time, the tears came unhindered, the floodgates seemingly blasted off their hinges as he sobbed, unleashing the torrent that had been forming from the instant Zoe had pushed him away.

"I'm sorry Connor, I've made such a mess of everything. Honestly, I think - " _Oh my God, Jared is so right, isn't he,_ "No, I _know,_ okay, I k-know, I _know_ , you're never going to forgive me, b-but I swear to you, I only wanted to help. That's it, that's the reason for all of these stupid, stupid lies - and I know that doesn't make it right, or fair, but I figured you'd be back soon and then they wouldn't need me to make things better, and I guess when that happens the lies just won't matter so much anymore because you'll be there and then it's _your_ choice how things go, and I won't be important and maybe I can just disappear from all of your lives, and now I'm rambling, sorry, _shit_." Eyes squeezing tightly shut, Evan pressed his trembling fingers to his trembling lips. _Breathe. Okay, Evan. Breathe. Breathing is good. Talking is good - it helps, you know it does, even if it has to be to someone who can't hear._

Mumbling through his fingertips, he practically pleaded, not only to Connor but to his own tormented conscience, "Okay look, I was _trying_ to help, but then there was Zoe, and I know she's your sister, but she's also _Zoe_ who, y-you know, I've been in love with since _forever_ , and I know it was wrong b-but it just happened. And then it stopped happening, well _she_ stopped it..." He physically shuddered, pained by the memory of how horrified she looked after his great mistake. He shook his head, a humourless grimace gracing his face.

"I can't blame her, she -" he hiccupped, leaning forwards as he did so and grasping the blanket in his sweaty hands, "-she doesn't care about me, s-she doesn't even _know_ me, she only tolerates me because of you, and she shouldn't have to, she deserves so much better. You would know, she's _your_ sister - oh God, I kissed... I _kissed_ your _sister_ , and it was on your bed, oh my God that's so messed up, I'm _so_ sorry." The words felt foreign and wrong as he said them, too large and momentous to be coming from his mouth - his first kiss, with the only girl he'd ever cared for, and few things had ever felt so wrong. "I didn't even mean to do it, I swear, it wasn't planned, it's just we were talking and she was smiling and I thought, for one stupid, stupid minute, she might actually..." His jaw clenched and his face contorted beyond his control as he tried to suppress a particularly loud whine. Gasping, he shook his head aggressively, cursing himself internally as he muttered, "I'm an idiot. I'm _so_ sorry, Connor, for Zoe, for this whole screwed up thing... I don't know how it got this far."

That was true. He'd never intended to allow Mr Murphy's assumption to go uncorrected, never meant to go to the hospital with him, never meant for it all to spiral out of control. It was like one of those seeds from a sycamore tree, dropping without warning before falling, falling, twisting and twirling as it fell, a failing helicopter completely at the mercy of the wind and helpless to choose where it would crash.

He'd almost managed to assemble some form of composure to talk about it - that wasn't exactly intentional either, the way he'd reverted to stifling his emotions, it was just that he'd _had_ to calm himself in order to spit out those poisonous words. As soon as his confession was through, though, his throat was rapidly seized by another powerful sob, and Evan no longer felt the need to fight against the lapping waves of sorrow which were hungrily consuming him.

He hadn't meant to fall like one of those pitiful little helicopter seeds. He hadn't meant to laugh at Connor, or bump into him in the computer lab, or let him sign his cast with that offhand comment, _now we can both pretend we have friends._ Connor had been kind to him that day, for a few moments, just long enough to ask about his arm and sign his cast and smile as if neither of them was entirely alone. Evan knew he had no right to be there lamenting his misery with the ragged desperation of a drowning man gasping for air, but like a seed in the wind, he couldn't resist. Even though he knew it was never meant to happen, even though he wished he'd never been dragged into the tide, this time he'd found himself swimming with the current to make his way to Connor. The boy had been kind to him, once, and Evan didn't go to Connor because he was naive enough to think he might have _meant_ it; he went because Connor had been willing to _pretend_ he had.

And now Evan was using him to pretend that there was somebody who cared about his troubles. Shame sat heavily in his windpipe. There were no more words, only tears, until his throat burned and his eyes ached and his face was completely red.

* * *

The boy had no indication of how long he'd spent weeping, but eventually his noisy, snotty wails subsided into grating hiccups, and in time those, too, finally faded. His shoulders were hunched forward, his forehead pressed against his jeans, his moist fingers were bizarrely still, and his face felt dry and grainy from the salty trails left behind by his seemingly ceaseless crying. Shadows increasingly clung to the walls, and began to wrap their cold tendrils around the two lost boys.

Initially, Evan didn't react to the sound of the door opening in any way beyond tensing his spine - he was hardly in the most flattering of states, but he presumed it was a nurse come to check on Connor, and that it wouldn't be considered strange for him to be so visibly distraught, and that they would come and go without a word just like they always did. After a few seconds of silence rather than footsteps, however, suspicion started to prickle at the nape of his neck, and hesitantly he unfurled himself to glance at the figure standing in the doorway, framed by the bright light of the hallway; instinctively he knew before setting eyes on her exactly who it was.

Zoe's silence frightened him further than any amount of anger or disgust could have, mostly because she had every reason to shout how repulsed and offended she was - he deserved that. _She_ deserved that, that anger. He'd almost come to expect it. But the unknown, the imperceptible, unreadable quiet emanating from her, was so menacing to the regretful boy that he didn't at all know what to say.

Laughter of any kind, nervous or otherwise, had no place between Evan Hansen and Zoe Murphy in that moment, even Evan could tell that much. So, for lack of alternatives, he fell back on the other favourite phrase of his.

"I'm so sorry."

It didn't look like she was planning on responding. Her face was cast in shadow while her edges were illuminated and blurred from the light behind her giving her a great impression of power and immortality - a spirit of judgment. Zoe regarded him through narrowed eyes, assessing just how genuine he was. Eventually, she shifted, her weight sliding from one foot to the other and back - _preparing herself, she's going to walk away or start shouting any second, oh my God, why did I come back here,_ \- and strode forward, visibly attempting to shake off her reservations to leave them at the door. She didn't look at him as she took the closest chair and sat down, but flatly quipped, "Didn't I already say you apologise too much?"

Evan blinked. His mouth stumbled over incoherent syllables as his mind raced to confirm what she'd just said, "I - uh, well um yeah but, I - uh, I just -"

"You shouldn't have kissed me, that was weird," she informed him, sounding suddenly very much like a confused teenager, more of a kid really, instead of an angry, defensive young woman. "But I don't need you to keep saying sorry, I just want to forget about it, okay?" Turning, she fixed her eyes, still piercing and narrow, upon him, reading clearly the terror and bewilderment written on his face. "You can do that, right?"

Without a beat of hesitation, Evan nodded frantically, relief almost bringing new tears to his eyes. _I don't know how she can be so forgiving, I know I should never have tried to kiss her. But if she wants to put this behind us, then that's fine, that's so fine, it's great, actually, I really thought that would be the thing to tip her over the edge and hate me forever. I guess we get to save that exciting thing for another day!_

Words couldn't have begun to express his immense gratitude to Zoe's generally dismissive response, but she seemed to pick up on his subdued wonder. A wry smile darted across her face, and she suggested, "I think it's just one of those random things that happens when you're not feeling so normal. It's like... Grief, worry, whatever, that stuff, it makes you do dumb things - things you would never think to do normally, you know?"

 _She's not wrong_ \- _half the time I'm too nervous to even look at her in case she sees me. A week ago I would never have dared to even touch her, let alone kiss her._ Again he nodded, mumbling, "Yeah. Thanks for being so, uh, just being so _nice_ about it." Zoe began to shrug nonchalantly, turning her attention back towards her brother. _Where it should have been all along. She didn't expect anyone else to be here. I'm intruding on a family moment._ Hasty, he scrambled to his feet, hurrying to escape from Zoe for the second time that evening, "I can just - well, uh, I was gonna go home, so I can just, uh, I'll leave you to it -"

 _"No!"_ The command was far sharper than Evan's subdued murmurs, and came out almost like a shout, stark in the stifling air. She blinked, as if she herself was caught off guard by her own urgency. Cautiously, Zoe amended her demeanour, replacing her aggression with reticence as she slowly implored, "Just... don't go, please." Her pause lasted several seconds too long, heavy with the anticipation of what she didn't go on to say. No longer looking at Evan, her gaze drifted around to rest upon Connor's peaceful face as she added, "You were here first."

"Y-yeah but -" the teenager hovered awkwardly between sitting and standing, feet shuffling constantly on the linoleum floor while his nibbled nails carved crescent-shaped indents in his sweaty palms, "N-no because he's your brother and honestly I don't mind-"

"Stay. I don't want to be here alone."

Zoe had angled her face so as to hide it behind a veil of her long brown hair, but her embarrassment was audible regardless. The plea stopped Evan's retreat in it's tracks, and, tentative in case she should change her mind and erupt in a fit of anger, he lowered himself back into the chair.

It didn't change the fact that he knew he shouldn't have been there. But he couldn't abandon Zoe, not if she claimed she needed someone else with her if she was to dare to interact with her comatose brother in any way, and especially not when she'd specifically asked _him_ , with that potent mixture of timidity and boldness, to be with her, to stay there.

Unable to bring herself to look at the boy at her side, Zoe judged by the creak of the chair that he'd decided to do as she asked. It was with more than a little relief that she allowed herself to relax slightly, leaning back more comfortably into her seat as the tension eased its way out from her body, save for the frown on her forehead. That, however, wasn't something Evan was prepared to enquire about; his own experiences had made him quite an expert at identifying when people were trying desperately to hold onto something they wish they had the courage to release. Being asked had never made him any more inclined to open up to anyone, however, so he waited, watching Zoe for a trace of a sign that soon enough she would voice the issue that was bringing her such consternation.

It didn't seem to be more than a few minutes before she softly asked, "Why'd you come?"

 _The truth_. That brief warning slammed to the front of Evan's mind before any more meaningless projections could come skidding out; he could pretend he was there out of a sense of duty to Connor, or lie that he was coping just fine, but right then, Zoe was suffering, and she needed to know that someone else could relate, that what she was feeling was valid and universal, not to be isolated by false claims. He took a shaky breath to confirm, as sincerely as he could, "To... I don't know, to speak to someone, a person who has been good to me, who tried to help as if he actually knew how I felt when I was just..." _Lost_. "He's been there, before, w-when things weren't so great for me? It's... It meant a lot. It really helped. Whatever. Y-you know, I just wanted to speak about..." He nodded towards her, indicating their recent disaster of a kiss, and thankful he didn't feel the renewed heat of a blush rising to his cheeks. "There's lots going on, I just needed to get it off my chest, uh, clear my head." Edging closer, he asked, "You?"

"Same. Kinda." Zoe sighed, heavy and exhausted as though the weight of the entire world sat obnoxiously upon her shoulders. She tucked her hair behind her ear, and Evan was surprised to see the raw misery shining out of her face. Kindness was commonplace on her pretty features, happiness often resided there too, and due to his recently acquired privilege he was no longer a stranger to Zoe's anger. But _sorrow_ , especially regarding her brother, was incredibly rare, and he'd never seen her looking quite as pitiful as she was right then:

 _Something has changed. She's starting to let herself feel that pain... She needs this as much as I did, the talking, the chance to tell someone how she feels._ His stomach seemed to rescind within itself at the prospect of baring witnesses to what he knew was surely coming, but his conscience would not be so easily swayed. _You're here to help the Murphys, remember, that's what you told Connor and Jared and Alana and yourself, and_ this _is helping. This is what you're here for, you can't... you can't run away and abandon her, you've got to help. You've got to listen._ Courage and resolve renewed, he dared to press, "What is it? The stuff you need to sort through, can you say?"

She nodded, slowly, the space between them pregnant with anticipation.

Reaching for the right way to describe it, she began, "He's not been... very good to me. Some of it's not even intentional, he just _does_ things. It's stupid." She could have stopped there. Under other circumstances, she probably would have. But not just then, with her comatose brother before her and a soft-spoken, apologetic boy beside her. "Did you know that it was me who found him?" Zoe's soft murmur barely disturbed the mild, dusty air. Her eyes, on the other hand, their piercing, tortured stare, threatened to burn a hole in her brother's pillow as she took in his unnaturally peaceful expression.

He'd made a point of asking as little about how Connor came to be in the hospital as possible, well aware that he was not at all entitled to know such deeply personal, disturbing information. Even so, between the regretful mumbles of Mr and Mrs Murphy and the explanations of the doctors, he'd been able to assemble a fairly clear picture of what had happened. Equally subdued, he admitted, "Yeah, I heard."

Though he saw her green eyes narrow to shield from the painful memory, they remained firmly fixed upon the comatose teenager. She swallowed, but her words were thick and throaty as she confessed, "I thought he was dead - he nearly _was_ \- it was the worst thing I've ever seen. H-he was just laying there, so still, and I couldn't - it was too much - I couldn't do anything, I just _stayed_ there, staring, I don't know how long it took for me to..." She pressed her lips into a thin, narrow line, her brow became creased and weary, her eyes squeezed shut tight, and her nostrils flared with repressed tears.

Tentative (and hoping he wasn't crossing a boundary), Evan cautiously raised a hand to pat her shoulder reassuringly. She didn't appear to notice, but he was just relieved she didn't pull away. Trying to muster the same level of compassion his mother always had when she was trying to comfort him, he reminded her, "Shock, i-in a situation like that, it's completely normal; and you, you got help in the end, right, you told your parents, and the paramedics got to him in time, otherwise he wouldn't..." He jerked his head towards the heart monitor, releasing a comforting beep every passing second to remind them of the life within the body before them. "Whatever you think, I know y-you did your best, you got him help in time."

She huffed, a bitter smile causing her freckled face to contort. "No," she muttered, "I didn't. If I'd helped him in time, he wouldn't have tried to _kill_ himself." The way her jaw visibly tensed, and the subtle twist of her neck, followed immediately by a shuddering breath all reeked of the emotional denial he'd already seen so prevalent in Larry Murphy, and he no longer had any doubt about how Zoe learned to appear so unfeeling.

 _She has to let it go, whatever resentment or guilt or whatever else, she has to let it out, or it will destroy her. And if it's not for me to hear... well, who else will listen?_ He squeezed her shoulder - just for a moment - and that was all it took for the dam to burst, and a river of tears to come crashing through. She pulled her knees in tight to her chest and buried her face in them, but the muffled sobs were still painfully audible. As always, the sight of someone falling apart before him brought Evan to a stage of utter uncertainty, exacerbated by the fact that he _knew_ Zoe, at least well enough to know how strong she was; even on that fateful morning, when he was first brought to the hospital after Connor had been in surgery all night long, she hadn't cried. On his first ever meeting with them, he'd witnessed the tears of both Larry and Cynthia Murphy, but not Zoe - he'd _never_ seen her cry.

A large part of him wished the ground would open up beneath them and swallow him whole. However, another part, a piece of his heart that seemed a little heavier than the rest, belonged to Zoe - it had done since he was eleven and she was ten and had played some Taylor Swift song on her purple guitar at their middle school's summer talent show - and it longed for him to be near her, helping her in any way he could. Therefore, ignoring the intrusive voices of doubt and ridicule mumbling in his mind, he steeled himself to offer, "I'll listen. You don't have to, but, uh, if-if you want to, y-you can talk about it. I mean, I-I just... I'm here. If you want. Uh..." He watched her carefully for any shift that indicated a decision being made.

She sniffed, nodded into her knees, and wiped a hand across her face. By the time she looked at him, Evan had a tissue offered to her, which she accepted with a bewildered smile. He waited for her to blow her nose and dry her eyes properly before she began to share the knowledge that had played on her mind for months, and which had plagued her mind ever since she discovered what Connor had done to himself.

"You know how he was after rehab, right? You saw how antisocial he became, that's why all that stuff with your e-mails started, wasn't it. He used to be out at all hours, and he'd lash out if anyone asked him where he'd been, and it sucked, but at least we pretty much knew what was going on: he'd sneak out, get high, then come back and get mad at whoever challenged him over it. But after he came back from rehab, it was like he completely shut down..." She shook her head, and her gaze returned to her brother, though in that moment she didn't see the teenager laying perfectly still in a hospital bed, she was seeing the frightened, weeping creature she'd found clinging to his pillow and knocking his head against their shared bedroom wall the night after he came home.

"We spoke about it, once, on the night he came back; I guess he couldn't sleep, but he was being noisy so I went to tell him to shut up, and he was just standing there crying. He was being weird, kinda zoned out but not like he was stoned, just like there was something missing. I don't even know if he realized he was saying it to me, but h-he told me, he spent so much of the time he was there locked up, completely alone in his room. He told me how lonely he felt, like he was never going to get out, and he knew he was being watched but they just didn't care, 'cause he could be shaking and throwing up and begging for help, but nobody ever came." She looked up from her mournful reverie, and asked, "Did he tell _you_ that?"

Evan was forced to shake his head.

"It wasn't the first rehab we tried, but it was the only one that actually stopped him; the first two were ones Mom found, some weird hipster-nature-meditation-exercise-artsy mental health bootcamps - you can guess how much good they did." Evan heard without seeing the bitter grimace on her lips. "Dad didn't approve, he said that he needed real therapy, but even _that_ wouldn't help Connor get better if he didn't actually _want_ it, so we really weren't surprised that the first ones did nothing for him. But Mom was so desperate for Connor to get clean that when they didn't work, she begged Dad to do something. She knew Connor needed more control if he was going to stop using, so she let Dad take over the whole thing."

The sharp inhalation through gritted teeth was the only indication Zoe gave that she was struggling, or at least, the only one Evan was aware of; reluctant to make her more uncomfortable than she already was, his eyes were fixed firmly on the letters written on his cast, meaning that he didn't see the tears slowly trembling down her cheeks. In spite of that, as she carried on her voice remained stubbornly steady, unwavering despite her grief, "He found this other centre, a place he said would give Connor the regularity and discipline he needed. There were way more regulations, a no visitor policy, no drugs of any kind even with a prescription, barely _any_ emotional support - I think the website said it offered one optional therapy session per fortnight? - And if you showed any kind of violent behaviour, they'd keep you in your room until they were sure you were calm. Well, it's _Connor_ , so I guess that explains why he was locked up for so long."

Evan felt physically sick at the thought of what Connor must have gone through. He'd really never had any reason to consider what a juvenile rehabilitation centre would be like, but even if he _had_ , he wouldn't ever have believed that they could be so strict as that - not on a sixteen year old.

"Of course it messed him up. I mean, he was _already_ messed up, but before he went in there he had moments when he wasn't so bad, he had a sense of humour, and he was independent, and he had something _inside_ him. But when he came out, it was all just... gone."

"Mom clearly wasn't happy, but I guess she figured she'd asked Dad to stop Connor using somehow, and it _worked_ , so she couldn't complain. I don't think Dad was completely happy either, but he pretended to be, maybe just so Mom didn't point out that it was clearly a mistake. I mean, he basically got what he'd been aiming for, so even if he felt bad he could hardly complain; Connor was keeping his head down, going to school, staying in at night, and the only time he argued was when Mom was smothering him in attention. But it was so clear that he wasn't happy, and we _all_ hated it. Dad decided he'd been doing well enough that he wanted to try and cheer him up. So he bought him this old car, and tried to teach him to drive."

"They only had one lesson. That's when the old Connor came back, I think. He ended up screaming at dad, and crashing into a tree - afterwards he said it was an accident, but Dad..." She didn't dare repeat the concern that Larry Murphy had voiced that day, didn't want to humour the idea of it perhaps being true. "Dad got concussion, had to stay off work for a week, and he said that as soon as he was better he would get rid of the car." Doubt crept into her words one syllable at a time, until it sounded like Zoe was struggling in vain to justify it to herself: "I didn't even think Connor liked it that much, it was really old, and it was some gross brown colour, but I don't know, maybe it was because it was something that was only _his_ , after going so long without anything of his own, that he got so upset... whatever made him react like that, the big part of the story is that later that evening I found him, just sitting in the car..." she swallowed, her voice taut and ready to snap, but she refused to stop when she was so close to finally having it all out in the open, "he was sitting, a-and the windows were closed, a-and the engine was running, and I-I didn't even noticed anything was weird about it at first, but then I saw the hose pipe in the window and the exhaust pipe, and then I realized what he was trying to do, and of _course_ I pulled him out of the car, but he begged me not to tell, he told me he was just messing around with trying to find some other way of taking off the edge, and it wouldn't happen again as long as I didn't tell Mom and Dad, and, you know, he was barely out of rehab and it had been a while since he last shouted at me, and he wasn't angry that time, he was just _sad_ , and - oh my God - look, I _wanted_ him to be telling the truth, so..." She shrugged, attempting nonchalance before promptly crumbling in on herself as a loud, broken sob shook her from the inside out, and she dissolved immediately into a sniffling, shivering mess, aftershocks continuing to send tremors running through her. Miraculously managing to force stunted syllables through the hiccups and whimpers that distorted her pretty face, she reiterated, "I saw - my own bro-other try to gas - himself and I did-n't tell."

"Oh my - _Zoe.._." Evan looked from Zoe to Connor and back, disbelief that the boy before him could have tried to do such a thing battling with the solid evidence that he'd clearly tried to kill himself at least once more since then (and come much closer to it actually working). It wasn't solely because he barely knew Connor that he could honestly respond, "I had no idea." _I didn't really think there was anyone around me who felt like that - I thought I'd be able to see if there was, that I'd be able to recognize the signs - it's not meant to be so easy to hide how bad you feel. If I had seen, could I have helped before it got this far? Or would I have been too afraid to even try?_ He promptly decided he didn't want to risk reaching an answer.

"This, though, _this_ isn't my fault," Zoe insisted, adamant and angry in spite of the angry red tear tracks stripped along her face, "It's not like I didn't try to help him at first. Even after all the shit he used to pull, I really tried to give him another chance, just in case there was the tiniest possibility that he might be able to change. And if he hadn't been so _fucking horrible_ to me then I would have kept on trying, too, I mean he's my _brother,_ obviously I wanted to keep him from trying to off himself again... But I guess you can see how well that turned out." Zoe rubbed at her damp eyes, reproach for her brother returning to her expression as, once again, she lost herself to the memory. "The same night, I took the car to the scrap yard myself - I didn't want him trying to suffocate himself again, so I figured I'd get rid of the car and then maybe we could just, you know, _talk_ about how he was feeling, like a fucking _normal_ brother and sister are meant to, but of course he didn't want that." The mournful fury emanating from her as she swiped at her continuing tears was unmistakable, as was the bitterness in her thick, heavy words. "When he realized what I'd done, he got so mad, worse than I'd ever seen him before, and he just went for me like a total psychopath. He swore he was gonna kill me, and the way he looked, I could really believe it; I locked myself in my room but I was so sure he'd break down the door, he just kept screaming and banging until Dad managed to pull him away, and then the neighbours called the police, and half the neighbourhood ended up coming out to see what was going on, and Connor only calmed down when they threatened to take him into custody."

She paused, close to the end of her tale. Shrugging, she swept aside the last of her tears, determined to pull herself together. Evan's hand still rested on her shoulder, and he softly rubbed, a gentle encouragement to keep going.

Zoe's hand reached up to pat Evan's, quietly thankful for his presence with her. She sighed, half-breezy, half-bereaved. "Afterwards, he went out for the whole night... He came back stinking of pot. So _yeah_ , that was that. I decided I wasn't going to give him any more chances."

Evan nodded, empathy swelling within him and threatening to force yet more tears to fall. _No. No tears, not for me, not now: this is Zoe's moment._ He watched her continue to stare at Connor's peaceful, unstirring form, patiently waiting until she released his hand and let hers drop back into her lap before he dared to question her.

Acutely aware of the foreboding warnings whispering in his hear, he tried to be as cautious and sensitive as it was possible for him to be as he bravely asked, "But... If you're not giving him any more chances, why did you come back?"

"Because..." she sniffed, bemused at the fact that the single honest reply she could think of was almost sickeningly cliche. Shaking her head, she admitted, "Because of you. I know it's _so_ stupid, you can't begin to understand how dumb I feel for even thinking like this, but..." she shrugged, exasperated by her own uncertainty almost as much as by her brother's inconsistency. "He nearly died, my brother almost killed himself for real this time, and I know that doesn't change anything about the way he is, but it just makes me think, if maybe there _could_ be some way for him to... I don't even know. But the way you talk about him, it's just... It's so much better than I've known him to be. I guess you just make me think that maybe, someday, things might just be... I don't know. Ignore me." She sighed. "Damn, this is just getting depressing."

Zoe shook her head, still not quite able to believe she was there again, digging for hope in the great big pile of shit her brother had left them with. "Tell me something happy. About the two of you," She said, shy once more, like a kid who's just recounted a nightmare and has to ask for a bedtime story before they can go back to sleep. It was a sweet request, _she_ was sweet for even making out like their mess was redeemable, and Evan was helpless to refuse.

"Something happy, about Connor and I..." He grimaced, scouring his mind for anything uplifting enough that the content of his fabrication would compensate for the lack of truth. Zoe had just been brutally honest with him, and it stung him to have to lie to her in return, but it wasn't like he had a stock of Evan-and-Connor's-wonderful-friendship stories to drag up. He couldn't look at her as he weaved his web of dishonesty. Instead, his eyes fell to his cast, and the unruly scrawl it bore proudly. "I... The day I broke my arm? Yeah." _Something happy!? That? It will have to do._

"Connor, he came to see me, uh, at work, I-I spent the Summer as an apprentice park ranger at Ellison State Park, and there was a lot of wandering around staring at trees and picking up litter, s-so he decided to keep me company." Embellishing it like a fairy tale, he decided, "Connor got kinda bored, so he thought, he said we should climb a tree? You know, s-see the view, 'cause it might look really cool from up high, or something, s-so... We found this really tall oak tree." He remembered selecting it specifically, the 40-foot tall oak that had been standing there for almost a century. It was the tallest in the park, and he'd been practicing, learning how to scramble up smaller trees, discovering which ones were the best. He'd been saving the oak for his greatest challenge - the branches grew thick and close, almost all the way to the top, and the bark was coarse and cracked, but it didn't easily peel away from the trunk when he dug in his fingers. He'd thought it had been perfect. "We began climbing - i-it was fun, it started out fun. I got over half way up, and then I just stopped... I-I looked around - for Connor, h-he was quiet so I was looking for Connor - he was below me, a-and I leaned down to be able to see him better, and he smiled." Evan blinked hard. "B-but then I felt the branch give way underneath me, and..." He gestured to his arm. "It was a long fall."

"Well, shit." Zoe raised an eyebrow, sniffing away her tears as a doubtful smile tried to make itself known. "I don't know if this is a _happy_ story, Evan."

He laughed at the irony of it all - he'd tried to spin it as funny before, and Jared had said more or less the same thing. "N-no, it gets better, I promise. Like, I was on the ground, on my own, my arm was numb a-and I couldn't see anyone, and for a moment, I was terrified. But then, Connor climbed down, he came... He came to get me. And then, you know, he helped me up, made sure I got to the hospital, made sure things were okay. And I just knew, you know? I knew it would get better."

Zoe appeared to mull it over, silent. His mind raced, afraid that tale would be the thing to give him away, until she decided. "That _is_ a nice story. Thanks."

"It _will_ get better, Zoe. I promise."

Zoe glanced at him, a timid smile shining beautifully amidst the gloom of the dim room. Neither her expression nor voice seemed to hold much genuine conviction, nevertheless she valiantly replied, "I hope so."

Her gaze returned to her brother, as did Evan's; the cool, damp sensation of shock still rested in his chest, and the boy remained genuinely stunned by what he'd learned. However, (perhaps owning to the calm, comforting presence beside him and their recently resolved incident) Evan felt more peaceful than he had in days, and he suspected it was in part because of what he'd found out about Connor.

True, he'd known since his first encounter with Larry that the other boy was prone to suicidal tendencies, and he'd recognized him as something of a lone wolf long before; but he'd never really come to notice how isolated he must have felt, and through the twinge of guilt he felt for thinking it, he couldn't help but feel comforted that, no matter how bad things got for him, he wasn't the only one struggling like that.

 _I'm not alone. Neither is Connor, and maybe he doesn't know that, maybe he won't care, but that doesn't stop it being true. We're not on our own here, neither of us, and maybe, well hey, I don't know, maybe, maybe that's something._ Regardless of his uncomfortable tendency to revert to well-meaning lies, and even with his crippling fear of social interaction, Evan's heart was warm. When he told Zoe things would get better, he did so while promising himself to attempt to make sure that, at the very least, that one thing he told her turned out to be true.

Not that he knew how to actually help a teenager with mental health problems - he'd had little success even with himself. _But I have to try for Connor. And for me. There must be some way to let us see we're not alone._

* * *

 **A/N: Here's hoping that wasn't too much of an infodump!**

 **I made a playlist on spotify for this story, it won't let me link to it properly but it's called These Broken Parts - A Dear Evan Hansen story, by user eternaleponine (yep, that's "eternal Eponine", don't you judge me for that, I was 12 once!) It includes some songs which really gave me the idea for the story, and plenty of others which mirror the plot!**

 **Maybe give that a listen and maybe let me know what you think of it and this chapter! Thanks so much for reading, I'll be back soon!**


	11. Chapter 11

**A/N:** **What up, ducks. Ready for some more fun and not at all sad timez™ with ya girl? No seriously, this chapter is actually pretty cheery! Just a last spot of hope and not too much angst, before we get to genuinely the most stressful and draining chapter I've ever written as of yet. So with all that to look forward to, I hope you can enjoy this chapter!**

 **I don't think there are any triggers here this time round, but let me know if you think otherwise.**

* * *

 **These Broken Parts - Chapter 11**

Bizarrely enough, it wasn't the uncomfortable ache throbbing at the base of his neck, or the consistent humming and beeping of machines, or even the glaring bright lights once morning hit, that Evan registered when he first awoke the following day; it was the sweet, heavy, intoxicating scent of flowers. Instantly, he knew he was not in his own bedroom, but the pastel array of pink, purple and yellow puffs of colour surrounding him created an environment that was altogether unfamiliar. He blinked, wincing at the stiffness in his neck and back as he looked around the small space: Flowers and balloons and cards and soft toys lined every ledge, even sprawling onto the floor, walls and ceiling. And Connor lay still, unaware of the explosive brightness which had no doubt been brought there as a tribute to his tragedy.

 _The hospital. I'm waking up in the hospital, which means I_ fell asleep _at the hospital, which means I've been here all night, which means I still have to apologise to Mr and Mrs Murphy for running out on dinner with them, and it also means Mom probably has no idea where I am and oh my God, she'll be so worried, I'm a terrible, terrible son, where is my phone, I need to call her right now._ His body had yet to calibrate, nevertheless he dug keenly into his jeans pocket. First, one fist closed around a small glass bottle, _nail polish,_ _that will have to wait until later,_ thenthe other found the clunky off-brand device. He pressed the power button to discover the time, 8:34, along with the notification that he had nine missed calls and 37 new messages. There was a nauseating surge of dread as his stomach plunged to the flaw, and, thumb trembling, he unlocked the screen to check what he'd missed out on during his unexpected stay at the hospital.

To his relief and surprise, not one of the missed calls was from Heidi. Three were from Alana, two were from Cynthia Murphy and, much more recently, (so recently it made him wonder if it had been the vibration in his pocket that had drawn him out of sleep) the other four were from Jared. Confusion mounting, he checked his messages - again, surprisingly few were from his mother: a single message apologised for going straight to bed as soon as she came home from the night shift instead of waiting up to see Evan, and he didn't quite know whether to be glad or frustrated that she hadn't even noticed he was gone. _It's probably for the best_ , he reluctantly concluded, _if I'd had to explain where I've been, things would have become pretty awkward pretty quick._

Without warning, the door swung open. "Oh, you're awake! Good morning, I got you some breakfast," the voice from behind him caused Evan to jolt in his seat, twisting suddenly to see Cynthia standing in the doorway, a paper bag and some coffees in hand. She strolled in, a definite bounce to her step, and the sort of smile on her face that suggested she simply couldn't help but beam. Just behind her followed her husband, his expression visibly relaxed compared to his usual stern demeanour, and if he didn't think it was impossible for the lawyer to embody the word, Evan would have recognized the wonder there. He hurriedly pressed his hair down, for fear of looking unpresentable before the Murphys, _Ah, who am I kidding, it's too late to make a good impression. Besides, I'm wearing the same clothes I wore yesterday. I slept in my nice shirt, and now it's gross and creased._ Cringing, he awkwardly raised his casted arm by way of greetings as the couple sat down opposite him.

"Hi... Uh, g-good morning. I'm, uh, I just want to say I'm so sorry about running out last night, it smelled great and I'm sorry I inconvenienced you, I really just had to, uh, you know it was just that -" the synchronization of the sympathetic smiles made him falter. _At least they're not angry at me. That's something._

Larry shook his head, dismissing Evan's apology with an almost paternal firmness, "No no, Zoe told us you were feeling a little overwhelmed. It was just a bit unexpected, that's all. Anyway, you're alright, and that's the main thing."

"There was no inconvenience, Evan, we just wanted to know where you were. We were a little worried, with you just running out like that. And then Zoe told us she found you here, though we didn't realize you'd be staying the night." Cynthia's sympathetic expression shifted into one of concern as she realized, "Oh, and you didn't even get to eat anything last night, you must be starving! Here," she passed him the bag, and the sickly sweet smell of the icing they slathered on the dry, tasteless pastries in the hospital canteen reached his nose. She watched expectantly, leaving him with no option but to open the bag and take a bite, forcing it down despite the ever-growing nausea building in his throat that had nothing to do with the taste of his breakfast; he knew it must seem strange to the couple that he'd chosen to sleep at their son's bedside, just like it seemed strange to him to wake up surrounded by what resembled the entire contents of a party store, just like he knew it was strange for such palpable contentment to exist between the married couple.

Satisfied that he was eating, Cynthia indicated the colourful displays brightening the bland room and chuckled, enthused, "I guess you've noticed the decorations. Your friend Alana did it, apparently, she's been organizing a donation drive at the school, you know? Getting the other kids to send messages of goodwill to Connor and our family, and she said there's a fundraiser going on there today for him, it's the loveliest thing - she's an incredibly sweet girl. People are really coming together for our Connor." She glanced at Larry, and Evan caught the subtle nod and gentle squeeze of a hand the man gave to his wife.

"That's... really nice of her," Evan remarked, taking in the sight. _She really didn't have to go to so much effort. What does Connor matter to her anyway? She can't be his friend, or she'd be here. Maybe she feels like she owes him for not noticing how close he was to the edge - just like me. But, no, Alana's not the same kind of messed up as Connor and me, she has it together, she doesn't have a_ reason _to notice when other people are so near to falling apart._ That vein of thought only worsened the ache in his stomach, and he swiftly pushed it out of his head. "She told me she was planning to do something," he recalled aloud, "she didn't tell me what. But this, it's really cool." Remembering the missed calls from the girl responsible for this, Evan cautiously excused himself, "If you don't mind, I might actually call her. I kinda wanna talk to her, to thank her for doing this." _And maybe also just take a minute to let the fact that people are doing so much to support the Murphys sink in. A week ago, nobody even knew who Connor was, and now people are donating money and flowers to him. It's weird, but so what? She's making the Murphys happy._

He got two nods of approval and slithered stiffly out of his seat, inconspicuously stretching his legs as he walked out of the private room and into the hallway. Rather than stay still, he continued to slowly wander the quiet, familiar corridors as he pulled out his phone again, scrolled disbelievingly through the log of calls and texts he'd recently received, and pulled up Alana's number. It took a moment before he dared press the green button:

He hated speaking on the phone, to _anyone_ , even his own mother; his regular inability to judge the right way to interact with other people was massively exacerbated by not being able to see the other person's face, and the tension it ignited was always something he wished could be avoided. He never picked up unknown numbers, and even known ones would only get a response on days when he wasn't feeling too low to even consider attempting to answer. The only time he called other people was in times of genuine crisis, like when he was freaking out in a hospital bathroom about unintentionally telling the biggest lie of his life, or when he was lying with one numb arm on the ground under a tree after having fallen thirty feet. Calling someone he didn't particularly know in regards to anything other than a genuine disaster felt like an unnecessary torture. _No, don't get all stupid about it. It's just Alana, who's done something really nice and who should be thanked for it._

He dialled, and Alana picked up on the first ring.

"Evan, hey! You're awake, I saw you when I came by the hospital this morning but I didn't want to disturb you - I figured it would be a nice surprise to wake up to. Did you see what we did, did you like it?" Alana's familiar enthusiasm could have bowled him over even on the phone - the hopeful grin was audible in her words.

A flicker of fondness ignited briefly in his chest, before the warmth seeped into the back of his neck, and he noted that she'd seen him, been _in the room_ with him, when he'd been asleep. He couldn't afford to think about just how uncomfortable that made him. "Y-yeah. It looks really good, and, uh, I heard you're doing something at school today?"

"Yep, I'm just finishing setting it up right now! Hopefully we can raise some money for a charity today and do something to really help people like Connor." Her friendliness was just about sincere enough that she didn't come off as patronizing. Sometimes, Alana tended to be tactless and insensitive, and he was fairly sure she didn't intend it, but she regularly left him feeling inadequate as a human. But, so far, when it came to the topic of Connor, she was just the _right_ amount of encouraging. "It would be great if you could pop by to support us. People are really keen to know what you're doing, Evan."

 _Your fan club was devastated you weren't in_ , Jared's searing criticism bolted across his brain, so sharp and sudden his head seemed to vibrate, except it wasn't his head at all, but the mobile his tense, sweaty palm had pressed into his ear. He glanced at the screen:  
Another call from Jared. _Well, if he's actually willing to talk to me..._ "Alana... listen, I'll think about it and see. It's really great what you've done, but, uh -"

"Remember, I really do want to help you help Connor, Evan. If there's any -"

"I'll let you know," he quickly assured, conscious that Jared's call would drop out if he took too long to answer. "I-I need to go now. Um, bye." Evan gave Alana half a second to mumble her own hasty farewell before he slid across the button to accept Jared's call. An apology, slightly sour in taste, perched on the tip of his tongue as he greeted, "Hi Jared."

"Evan. Big fucking news, bud. Alana and the student council has set up this whole charity thing for Connor. I didn't tell you 'cuz I assumed it would only be, like, two kids selling a box of krispy kremes or something, but it's actually a really huge deal - the senior drama class has put on a play, there's a raffle with actually _decent_ prizes, and there are a bunch of kids selling Connor merch, you know, t-shirts and wristbands and buttons - I thought I'd cornered the market on those, but evidently not - I even saw cupcakes with his photo on them. _Cupcakes_ , how crazy is that? I never thought I'd be eating Connor Murphy, but it turns out he tastes-"

"People are really doing all that, all for Connor?" Interrupting Jared, Evan's evident disbelief put an end to Jared's playful, bemused innuendos. He blinked, trying to envisage the picture of unity and togetherness Jared painted; the truth he'd lived, of years surrounded by an ignorant, uncaring tide of teenagers who seemed set on abandoning him amidst them, wasn't something he could easily reconcile with this new idea of altruistic compassion for their comatose peer.

There was a pause, in which Evan imagined a typically Jared shrug - nonchalant, careless, but nevertheless intriguing. "Come see for yourself." Clearly, Jared had resolved not to directly address their recent altercation, but there was a veiled challenge in his following words: "Seriously, Evan, if you're _really_ in this for Connor's sake, you'll want to see this."

* * *

Hence it came to be that (after creeping back into his house, showering with the water pressure turned as low as it would go without completely ceasing to exist, and changing into the first fresh shirt he could find) Evan Hansen found himself stood outside the school gate, fingers working frantically into the coarse straps of his almost-empty backpack. He rolled back and forth on his heels, psyching himself up to cross the threshold. He knew what it would be like for him on the other side - how he'd be treated; a repetition of the last time he'd ventured onto the grounds, a million eyes boring into his soul, hungrily devouring every scrap of information he could spare. Except _no, not_ _like that this time. It wouldn't have been so bad before if I hadn't forgotten my add-ons, and I'm back to taking them now. I can handle this today, I have to handle it. For Connor._

Digesting his nerves, he forced himself to assume a neutral expression, and made his way down the path towards the building. There wasn't the usual smattering of students milling around outside that he usually saw on his way in, but perhaps that was because it was well into first period - or what _would_ have been first period, but Jared had informed him that the timetable had been adjusted to allow everyone to spend some time in the canteen, where most of the stalls for Connor had been set up.

He made his way there quickly, hating to take his time, since his short absence from the school had made him feel even less welcome there than usual. Sending a brief message to Jared to let him know he'd arrived, Evan ventured into the cafeteria.

It was unrecognizable, and not just because it was rammed full to bursting.

Almost every table was laden with a variety of leaflets, t-shirts, baked goods, or trinkets too small to identify at a distance. Various banners advertised games or activities, while some bore messages, _Pray 4 Connor_ , _Get well soon!_ , _#stopsuicide_. His classmates, the peers he _knew_ had always seemed so oblivious to the struggles of people like him and Connor, were wearing merchandise with blurry pictures of Connor's face on them, spending their cash and throwing their change in donation buckets, pointing out the posters which seemed to summarize the teen suicide epidemic, and not just _looking_ but actually _discussing_ it.

He caught a few wary, curious looks tossed in his direction, but it was too busy, _everyone_ was too busy, to pay him much mind, and for once he was grateful for it. It made it easier for him to weave amidst the crowd, not stopping before he came to face Alana, her proud grin waiting for him as though she'd know he was coming to meet her.

She leaned conspiratorially towards him over the table, careful not to disturb the variety of flyers and articles laid out before her. It was too loud for her to be able to whisper, nevertheless it felt like he was being made part of a secret as she simply asked, "What do you think?"

"This... it's incredible." He meant it, too. "We, we _need_ this. _Everyone_ needs this, w-we should try - maybe we can do something to try and keep this going?" A crease appeared in Alana's brow, and Evan could understand why, since last she knew, he had no clue about how they might possibly come up with something to help with the grief and the worry that everyone was feeling. But being there, surrounded by his peers as they actually interacted with the spectral figure of mental illness, prompted wisps of thought to gather, weaving together to form one flimsy central idea of how to actually do something _real_ for the other students at the school, the ones like Connor who so urgently needed help but maybe didn't know where to turn, and a way to prove to the Murphys that they were all trying to learn from the ignorance which had left Connor isolated like he had been. "You know what, we need to talk about this. A-and Jared, he'll h-" the word _help_ seemed somewhat premature, considering he had yet to even ask the infamously uncooperative boy his view on Evan's plan. "He'll want to know what's going on," he decided was more apt. "I'll find him, just come outside so we can actually, uh, talk." It was too manic for him to actually explain the entirety of his budding plan right then and there, but Alana nodded her assent, then turned to accept another girl's donation to the cause.

Evan glanced at the writing on the banner stretching above the tables Alana had covered with merchandise and leaflets, _The Connor Project. That name could work. I don't think Connor would particularly_ like _it, but it could definitely work._

Ducking through the cramped crowd, Evan sought out the other assistant he hoped to enlist, and spotted him a little way back, behind another desk, though he couldn't make out what exactly Jared was offering in order to draw in the small cluster clamouring for him to take their donations. Weaving closer, the sound of Jared's loud voice became distinguishable from the hum of the masses:

"Connor Murphy commemorative buttons - come on, aren't you missing seeing this obscenely pale face around school? For a nominal fee, you can keep Connor right where he belongs," he tapped the button pinned to his own shirt, and emphatically stressed, "In your _heart_. Thanks, so that's two for fifteen dollars? Nice," a smug grin crossed his face as two girls passed him a selection of bills, which quickly found their way into the pouch tied around his waist. Sensing a dubious stare upon him (Evan was sure this was meant to be a fundraiser, but somehow he didn't think Jared had any intention of putting all of the fifteen dollars he'd just made into a pot for Connor) he glanced up, finding his almost-friend standing just a few metres away. "Hey, you actually came!"

Unlike Jared, Evan couldn't shout to be heard over the swarm, so he pressed closer, cramming himself against the table and leaning most of the way over it before he replied, "Yeah. You said it was all for Connor, so: here I am. I-it's pretty amazing what people are doing." Lowering his voice, he couldn't help but clarify, "But you, you're making money out of this, though? Like, you're keeping a profit for yourself?"

Jared must have heard the accidental disapproval in Evan's change of tone, since he was overly defensive as he retaliated, "Yeah, well, free trading ain't a crime in the nation of capitalism, _comrade_ Hansen!" He gave a small, rough shove, which could have been considered friendly, if only he hadn't sounded so affronted. "Anyway, I'm not the only one. Most of us who are actually selling shit we took the time and money to make are keeping, like, half the profit at least." It wasn't a conscious effort that made Evan raise a single critical eyebrow, but it made Jared chuckle, his defensive shield slipping. "Look son, Papa's gotta get his, if you wanna win at monopoly you gotta play the game! And besides, at these prices I'm still gonna make plenty for the Connor fund. That's what this is all about."

"Did you..." Evan paused, considered whether he'd heard right, and thought about maybe questioning what he thought Jared had said before deciding he really didn't want to know the reasoning behind Jared's new self-appointed title. "...Right. Okay, so I know I'm not, uh..." he faltered, the more difficult part of what he'd actually been meaning to say sticking in his throat; _I know we've argued, but it doesn't have to be a big deal. Who really wants to make a big deal out of this? He seems like he's not annoyed at me any more. It's not really asking a favour because he can say no if he wants, it's going to be fine, just ask him, Evan, just say it._ Bracing himself against a possible rebuttal, he broached the subject, "I haven't been great to you, and you don't have to, but, uh, I think I have an idea and I wanted to ask if you'd be interested in helping out. It's, well, I mean I'm going to explain it properly when Alana's here and we're somewhere a little more quiet, but basically I think we want to find a way to keep supporting the school like this, to help more people to talk about all this kind of stuff. You know?" The garbled summary made Evan himself cringe, but a small mercy shone out in Jared's lack of immediate mockery.

The other boy regarded him with his bottom lip stuck out, pensive. Shoving his glasses up to the bridge of his nose, he decisively agreed, "Yeah. Okay, you got me, I'm hooked. Now what?"

Carefully making sure only to touch Jared's shirt rather than skin with his moist palm, Evan stiffly grabbed and tugged him by the shirtsleeves out from behind the table. "Uh, come with me?"

Stunned, Jared barely resisted being guided away from his stall and the precious buttons, and followed Evan out of the hall and into a corridor, where sure enough Alana stood, attentively watching for the two boys, lips pursed until she spotted them approaching, when her concern melted into a glowing smile. She beckoned for them to join her by the window, expectation rolling off of her in waves. Jared stood beside her, the two of them staring intently at Evan, one mildly intrigued, the other wildly curious and barely containing it.

It wasn't by any means a crowd, but two pairs of eyes fixed solely on him brought a tremble to his voice and a prickle of sweat to the back of his neck; regardless, Evan blinked hard and slow, like his eyelids were lead, and voiced all the parts of the flaky plan he'd concocted within the past five minutes:

"Okay, s-so I was thinking, it would be really cool to maybe try and keep up... this," he gestured vaguely, grimacing at how awkward he knew he must look. "I think what happened to Connor, uh, it really shows how u-unsupported people are feeling, and I think that's something a lot of people are struggling with, so, uh, what if we set up a project, a student-run organization, where people can just come and talk about how they feel, with, uh, with no-no judgment, no pressure, just other people who kind of know how they feel. It could be a weekly thing, and we could maybe, uh, I don't really know if it would get very far, but we could set it up online, too, a bit like your blog but bigger, and maybe with... I don't know, some way to anonymously talk about your problems and get advice? And..." another idea came to him, "Maybe we could ask the Murphys to give interviews about their experiences, to try and encourage other people to open up, you know?" He swallowed, throat uncomfortably dry. His flimsy courage dissipated the instant he finished his explanation. Lowering his voice and eyes, he shuffled his feet and muttered some unintelligible end to his pitch.

He didn't see Alana nod, then glance at Jared to gauge his reaction. Returning her attention to the bashful boy, she asked, "What do you want to call it?"

"The Connor Project." The answer came uninhibited. Jared snorted, and immediately tried to mask it with a cough, but it was enough for Evan to furiously backtrack, "I mean, I know it's maybe a bit cheesy, and it was on your banner so if you don't want me to steal the name from that then we can definitely choose something else, it's only an idea so -"

" _The Connor Project_ ," Alana repeated, her expression softening. "That's perfect; I mean, it _is_ for your best friend, it's kind of _right_ that you name it after him." Evan hadn't had time to close his mouth before he'd been interrupted, and still he wasn't capable of doing so, thus it remained hanging dumbly open. Whether from excitement or amusement, Alana giggled, and quickly insisted, "We have to do it! It's the best way to ensure we can support the family during their tragedy, and keep being there for Connor in the future."

Jared's brows shot up, blatantly sceptical. Even so, he shrugged, and remarked, "It could be a good chance to sell more buttons, I still have 200 in my locker. Damn it, I think I'm gonna have to set up a ."

"And keep raising money for the project, of course! So you can be our head of finances - our treasurer," Alana decided, grabbing Jared's arm as if she couldn't stand to contain the surge of energy inside her. "And you," she turned to Evan, "Of _course_ you're the founder and president of the Connor Project, but would you -" she stopped mid sentence, suddenly acutely aware of how forward she was being. Steadying herself, she thrust her hand forward and tentatively asked, "Would you have me as your vice President?"

"V-vice Presi-"

"Okay, I guess we can be co-presidents!" She grabbed and vigorously shook his hand, binding him to their hasty agreement, and from his dumbfounded smile, she assumed he was thankful to be able to share some of the managerial responsibility. She was more than a little relieved herself.

"Okay, if you two are like, co-presidents or whatever," Jared rolled his eyes, making air quotes with his fingers, "I want to be in charge of designing the website. I mean buttons are cool and all, but I want to actually be involved with the planning and stuff, okay?" His request was directed at Alana, since she'd seemed to have hijacked the entire project.

Nodding eagerly, she seemed about to add something to the already-extravagant plan, but before she could speak, Evan found himself interrupting, bewildered: "You actually want to do this, the both of you? You don't think it's a stupid idea?"

"Well, I think it's very _you_ ," Jared responded dryly, intentionally not denying the stupidity of the endeavour. Humour lurked around his lips, silently mocking, but Evan thought he could spot something more real, more genuine, hiding behind his glasses. _That's good enough. At least he wants to be involved, and I'm pretty sure he wouldn't even try to humour me if he knew it was going to be a_ total _disaster._

"It's the _perfect_ idea, Evan," Alana gently insisted, placing her hand lightly on Evan's cast for a customarily acceptable few seconds. Her voice was slow and calm, more than he'd ever known it to be; beneath her anxious energy, Alana at least was sturdy in her conviction that his proposition was a worthwhile one. "Really. We _have_ to do this."

Relief and surprise came flooding in around him so fast that it made Evan's head swim; he blinked, trying to clear the hum of exhaustion and anticipation in his ears and eyes, and he would have been too preoccupied to pay any attention to the sound of footsteps passing behind him had he not noticed both pairs of eyes tracking the passing figure. Just as he risked peeking over his shoulder, Alana called out, "Zoe! Wait Zoe, Evan has something..." her call faded awkwardly, as if she hadn't anticipated the girl stopping with so little effort of persuasion. Zoe Murphy, however, didn't have eyes for either the girl who had called out to her or the boy who was tugging Alana back a step, in doing so allowing the illusion of privacy to settle around her and Evan.

"H-hi," Evan half-raised a hand in a wave, before mentally cursing when he remembered how lame that was. He turned to fully face her, his cheeks steadily growing darker as he struggled to shove out the reluctant words, "I'm sorry... about last night." _About the weird kiss thing and then going to the hospital when she probably wanted to be alone and about listening to all of her completely private personal family memories that I had no right to hear and about falling asleep with her - oh my God, did I fall asleep_ on _her? That's so terrible, oh my God oh my God, okay obviously I can't apologise explicitly for that right now without Jared and Alana demanding a full explanation. Or is ambiguous even worse? What if Jared starts wondering what I'm sorry for and comes up with something terrible? Say something, Zoe, please say something..._

"It's okay," she shrugged, eyes averted, and for a moment she seemed just as shy and insecure as he felt. "It was good, talking." She offered a smile that didn't quite reach her eyes, and brought herself to hold Evan's gaze for a couple of seconds, before returning her attention to his shoes. "What were you saying?"

Shuffling incrementally backwards to align himself closer to his new colleagues, the boy began, "I came up with something. I - _we_ \- want to try and make sure people like Connor are supported, and that they know they're not alone. I think we've got an idea of how, and it really might be kinda great."

"Oh." The fragile smile fled, replaced by that shield of self-preservation that so often sprang up around the tormented girl. Her true opinion was impossible to discern for those on the other side of her barricade, and she was impassive as she remarked, "I'm sure my parents will be really interested. You should tell _them."_

He couldn't be sure, but Evan thought he might have caught subtle hints of disapproval and worse, disappointment, in her response. _Doesn't she want us to try and help her brother? Was she hoping for something else from me?_ No matter how sweet and sunny she had always appeared from a distance, he'd long-since come to terms with how much of a paradox Zoe truly was up close.

He opened his mouth, still not quite decided if he was brave enough to question her, but she was turning away before the first uncertain syllable could be spluttered out, saying over her shoulder, "I've got to go, I've got a thing. I'll see you around."

"Zo - " Evan took a step towards her, but two different hands on his arms stopped him. Turning around to face his unlikely companions, he mumbled, "That was weird."

"Sure." Jared shrugged, unfazed. "Her brother's in a coma, bro, what do you expect?"

 _But you don't know her like I do, you don't know she's not normally like that, so dismissive, not with me, not these past few days,_ he ached to argue. _Something's off, she must not like the sound of what we're doing, but she doesn't even_ know _exactly what we're doing - maybe it's just the concept she doesn't like, maybe we shouldn't do this._ But Alana was there, and enthusiasm for their mission was beaming out of her like the rays from the sun, so he didn't say a thing.

"Don't worry, Evan," she implored, dismissing Zoe's behaviour with a flick of her hand. Her dark eyes were wide and sombre as she reminded him, "You have some more important people to tell."

* * *

"We're calling it the Connor Project," Evan explained an hour later, sat opposite Mr and Mrs Murphy in the hospital hallway. "We still need to figure out exactly how it will work, but me and Jared and Alana really think it will be something worthwhile, uh, and it will help a lot of people, a-and you know, bring something good out of everything that's happened."

Larry couldn't bring himself to speak; he was afraid his voice wouldn't hold up if he were to say out loud how touched he was that the teenager was so keen to make sure that people learned from Connor's suffering and his shortcomings as a parent, that there could be a little bit of light, and something _real_ for his son to hold on to, once he woke up. But that was okay: the mist over his eyes said enough.

Cynthia was as emotional as Larry was silent, tears readily spilling down her cheeks. Her hands were trembling as she reached out to hold the boy's tense shoulders, glowing with gratitude, "It sounds wonderful, Evan, thank you for caring so much. I just, I don't even know what to say! I know it's going to be perfect. Thank you, Evan thank you."

After a few moments, her husband placed a hand on her shoulder, and she released Evan in favour of leaning into him, at home in his company at last. He subtly tapped his watch and offered her a packet of tissues, and she managed to compose herself, wiping away her tears before she turned back to Evan.

"You know, we've got an appointment to talk to Connor's doctor in a few minutes. He had another CT scan this morning, and she wanted to explain what she saw in the results - it sounded like good news, we shouldn't keep her waiting." She looked ready to overflow with hope. Evan nodded his agreement, and Cynthia added, "Perhaps you'd like to take the chance of privacy to explain your plan to him? I'm sure he'll be excited, and I really think the news should come from you. Don't you think?"

"Oh uh, w-well yeah, sure, okay. I can, I'll just, uh, y-yeah, yeah." Evan nodded. It took him a few seconds to remember that he wasn't actually so afraid of being in there alone with Connor any more. "Good luck," he said, and stood waiting in the hallway, shifting his weight from one foot to the other until the couple had turned a corner and disappeared from sight.

Now came the trickier part. He hadn't anticipated this, but it seemed reasonable enough, really, that he should at least inform Connor of the sham of a group he was setting up in his name. Bracing himself, he pushed open the door and stepped inside.

It was gonna be easy, right? He'd come by plenty of times before, spent hours on end alone in Connor's company simply out of guilty obligation. Hell, he'd found it beyond simple to speak to Connor the previous evening, pouring his heart out to alleviate a fraction of his torment, but now that it came to telling Connor how he was using his name to promote everything the other boy had clearly never found, it seemed the cruel irony turned his tongue to metal, heavy and dry. Sure, it would be easy - as easy as speaking when your mouth has totally forgotten how to work.

"Hey," it was more of a choke than a word, but at least it was a start. Agitated, he hurried over to sit in the seat he always chose, near the foot of Connor's bed, the one closest to the door, and clung to it with both hands. He retracted them to his lap almost instantly, cringing away from the unmistakable sensation of having touched old gum stuck to the bottom of the chair with his left hand. "Shit, shit," he mumbled, anxiety leaving him momentarily as he wiped both hands, even the untainted one, on his jeans, before digging them into his pockets - he didn't want to run the risk of accidentally forgetting about it and touching his face with the gum-cursed hand.

As he did so, however, his fingertips brushed against something small in his pocket, the one where he didn't keep his mobile phone, where he only ever put things he hadn't been expecting to take. His fingers closed around the warm, smooth bottle, and he remembered his pledge to Zoe:

He was nervous, and he could use some kind of distraction while he broke the news to Connor - and he _was_ going to tell him, he was determined. _Midnight Sky, let's see how close to black you really are._ Evan unscrewed the lid from the nail polish, surprised at the gloopiness of it. His Mom never really bothered with painting her nails, and he'd never had much of an interest in having his own being anything other than plain, so it was actually the first time he'd come into contact with it in real life. Still, the commercials always made it look easy enough, so the trepidation didn't hit him until he dollopped it onto Connor's nail, only for the excess to roll down the side of his finger and onto the white hospital bedsheet.

"Oh..." brow creasing, he wiped at the droplet of navy, turning it into a small, sticky smudge, and grabbed Connor's hand and a tissue to scrape away that first pitiful attempt; clearly, this was not, in fact, a Maybelline commercial, and he was going to have to be a little more hands-on if he actually wanted to do it right.

Picking up Connor's hand, (and silently thankful that the other boy wasn't able to sense how damp his palms were now) he balanced the bottle between his knees and re-dipped the brush, scraping off the excess this time. His second attempt to paint a nail was considerably more successful than the first - though admittedly, he had given himself a very low starting point, and any seasoned nail-painter would surely scorn the way the polish slightly overlapped onto the finger itself. _I guess it's not completely terrible... I've started it now, I have to get this done._

The majority of his concentration was channelled into making sure he didn't spill the bottle, and that as much of the paint as possible went onto the nails themselves rather than the fingers, so despite the uncomfortable shuddering within his stomach, he couldn't really afford to think about his nerves. So he painted, trying not to even hear the words as he cautiously explained, "Connor. I went to school today, a-and it was really amazing. Everyone was talking about you, about what you're going through - I-I mean not just the coma but also all about how you were feeling, you know, _before_. Like, how... _alone_ you were? I think, if-if people had known, they would have wanted to help." He thought of Alana and her blog, of Jared and his sales pitch that just might have been genuine, and of himself, "We _want_ to help. Ha, that sounds dumb, uh, okay. You, a-and people like you, there isn't much in place for you right now..." He knew that for himself; one of his Mom's contacts at the nursing home knew someone who knew someone who knew a therapist who worked with teenagers and had a space just opened up at just the right time, that was how he'd managed to skip past the waiting lists and get some help, but he knew a lot of people weren't so lucky. And before he'd booked his regular appointments with Dr Sherman, there had been literally nothing. He took a breath for the big announcement, "We want to change that, somehow - even if it's not much, we're going to try."

The first hand was finished, so he moved to sit on the other side of the bed to finish the job. "Me, Jared and Alana are starting a discussion group in school, for people to come to, to talk about their feelings, their experiences and stuff, and maybe just, you know, find other people who feel... t-the same, and m-maybe then they won't feel so, just so alone? And like, I don't know if it's your kind of thing, obviously you don't have to come, but if you want to one day then, you'll be welcome - _everyone_ will be - or if not I think we're gonna have like a website or something, a-and I guess we're hoping it might help some people who are struggling, or whatever, and... yeah." He shrugged, unceremoniously finishing with the painting and the explanation. "Oh," he remembered just before he was ready to push his chair away from the bed, anxious not to leave out the one detail that he was more uncertain about than anything else before he retreated. "And I hope you don't mind, we're calling it The Connor Project."

He released Connor's hand, and replaced the lid on the nail varnish, fumbling a little. For a first attempt to paint someone else's nails, he decided he hadn't done a bad job. Even if it was clumsy, the return of some colour to the teenager's pale hands was a definite improvement, in any case. It had come out more shimmery than it looked in the bottle, and with just a hint of blue, much like the sky just before midnight. _As the name implies_ , Evan wryly noted.

A small smile at his private amusement was just beginning to lift one corner of his lips when he thought it happened (though in all honesty he really couldn't be certain of what he saw): he'd only just let go of Connor's hand, so maybe it was just gravity acting on him as his body settled into the resting position. Nevertheless, whatever the cause, he was at least half sure that, for a split second, he saw Connor's middle finger move.

* * *

 **A/N: We're getting there, my loves, we're getting there! I spent all of last night writing the chapter where Connor *spoiler alert* wakes up, it's coming soon...**

 **I think maybe this is a bit of a filler, but it all comes into the big picture soon enough. Thanks so much for being patient, I know I take things slow pace-wise but I hope that's not too discouraging for you!**  
 **And thanks people who checked out the Spotify playlist for this! (Although when I listen to it, Spotify does start recommending the life sucks and sad songs playlists, but I don't really think it's *that* depressing...)**  
 **Basically, you're amazing, thanks so much for reading, and I'll try to update soon!**


	12. Chapter 12

**A/N:** **ARE YOU READY MY LOVES? STRAP YOURSELF IN, IT'S A BUMPY ROAD FROM HERE ON IN!**

 **(Okay ngl that's an overstatement but I'M EXCITED so let's stick with it!)**  
 **Trigger warning for panic attack. Take care, please.**  
 **I don't wanna talk about it before you've read it so I'll let you get on with reading... enjoy! (This chapter i oops)**

* * *

 **These Broken Parts - Chapter 12**

The image of a possibly-intentional finger movement didn't leave Evan's mind all week: over and over he replayed it in his mind, still never quite reaching a conclusion on whether it was more likely to have been gravity or a trace of life returning to the boy. He hadn't said anything to anyone about what he might have witnessed. It felt selfish to him, at least a little, but it was well-meaning, not driven by his own self-interest: he was unwilling to offer false hope that might amount to a tremendous nothing. Larry and Cynthia were already on edge following their talk to Connor's doctor, since apparently he was doing well enough that they could remove the ventilator and begin to lower his methadone dosage, but there was still no indication of when he might wake. Even with that cautionary warning, though, their renewed anticipation was palpable to the point of being painful to witness, and the last thing Evan wanted was to make it even worse by confessing something that might not even be what he was hoping it was.

So he kept quiet. Quiet was good, _comfortable_ for him, familiar, wrapping himself up in the safe arms of silence and denial. Besides, it wasn't like he didn't have things other than fingers to think about; The following week was so busy Evan barely noticed it was slipping away until Thursday evening, when all the time that had passed seemed to be pulled out from under him, and slipped, only aware of the weight the immense task they'd taken on held when he crashed down.

He looked around; he was back in Connor's bedroom, only the second time he'd ventured there, after being invited to the Murphy household once more to make up for the humiliating attempt to dine with them that had occurred a whole week ago. He'd barely had time during the week to drop in and formally apologize to Cynthia for running out the last time: Alana and Jared had kept him preoccupied almost tirelessly with organising the Connor Project launch. The other two teens had spent most of the week perfecting the coding for the website, making sure that all of the pages were properly formatted, all of their links worked, and the information they wanted was up there.

Besides his time spent scrolling through a handful of websites, Evan was mostly clueless about the expansive world of I.T, so he'd stuck to his regular place, perched precariously on the edge of Jared's bed, scribbling his own messy annotations on the photocopies Alana had given him of her perfectly presented notes for every subject since term had started, and half-watching as the other two took the lead. On the first day, Jared had hauled a dining chair up the stairs for Alana, so that the two of them could both sit at the computer desk with a good view of the screen. By the second day, Jared had been relegated to it himself, with Alana having claimed his leather spinning chair for her own. It was bizarre to watch the pair work together, and it wasn't without hitch, since Jared kept zigzagging between awkwardly trying to be polite enough to make a good impression one minute and arguing about a more efficient way to set up the page the next. As for Alana, her manners were faultless, but she had a tendency to be just a little overbearing, and it turned out she could be much more defensive than Evan ever would have guessed when her ideas were challenged (which they were, and frequently, as was an inevitable consequence of doing anything with Jared.). But beyond the initial bumps and squabbles, they actually seemed to work really well together, and it didn't take long for Evan to feel that, rather than an equal participant in a group of unlikely allies, he was third-wheeling two fast-forming friends, left grimacing as they exchanged tentative in-jokes, or loitering on the outside of what would otherwise have been companionable silences.

It wasn't so bad; he had to keep reminding himself of that, or he might come to decide it wasn't quite as true as he wanted it to be. It was probably an _improvement_ nevertheless, of that he could be more certain. He was used to being shut out, and at least when he was with his new colleagues he wasn't _alone_. Not to mention, it alleviated some of the massive weight of guilt he felt for having ditched Jared for weeks. _He deserves to have another person he can turn to, like_ really _turn to, not like with his half-friends. Even if I'm trying not to stay away from him any more._

That was another change: Evan had barely been to the hospital during the week, having finally given in to Jared's pleas to come back to school. He'd dropped by briefly on Saturday, dragging his old CD player and a couple of his favourite Owl City albums to be played as per Cynthia's request, but that was all.

It was easier than he'd imagined, settling back into the school routine. After the fair, the delirium surrounding the topic of Connor seemed to have peaked, and was gradually dissipating, so despite far more glances in his direction than he would have liked, people weren't _so_ prone to pestering Evan for news. Thankfully, he didn't have to be on his own with a massive crowd again, either, as it turned out his timetable for the new school year was aligned so that in every single class, either Jared or Alana or both were there with him. Across the other side of the room maybe, but they were _there_. Between lessons they walked in a pair or a three, and at lunch times they retreated to a quiet corner of the library to carry on developing their plans. Alana had somehow managed to coax the principal to agree to a second morning within as many weeks when the entire student body could be off-timetable to attend The Connor Project's launch. Their schedule for that fateful Friday morning included a whole-school assembly first thing, dedicated to telling Connor's story (or the fictionalized version of it Evan had been sticking to) and sharing the aims and arrangements of the Connor Project. Alana was in the process of convincing the Jazz band to play at the end of the assembly, and the drama department had agreed to perform a short piece, and then there would be another fundraising fair, this time with the three of them trying to persuade people to come along to the first meeting, which would be held that lunchtime.

Things were moving very fast.

He and Jared had managed to avoid arguing since they'd started working on The Connor Project, and for that Evan was immensely thankful. His friend barely even mentioned how weird it was that Evan was putting himself out so much for the sake of a boy he barely knew (though he _did_ warn that if Connor decided to come after the organizers of the project, he would be passing all of the blame over to Evan). Things were almost _good_ between them, the jokes less vicious and more friendly than they had been in a long time. A big part of the reason behind that was that Jared knew Evan knew how much he'd hated being left family-friendless, and that Evan was finally starting to listen to Jared's advice and avoid visiting.

On Thursday, though, Evan decided it just wouldn't be right to go without seeing Connor. The launch was but a day away, and it was inextricably in his nature to be nervous. On their mid-week meeting, Dr Sherman had reminded him that it was always good to talk through things that were worrying him (though naturally he couldn't even _think_ of actually explaining the situation to his therapist.). Since he'd rather his Mom remained clueless, and he didn't dare tell anyone else who knew about the Connor Project how he was feeling lest he caused their faith to waver, he didn't really have any other option but to turn to the only other person who he could speak to openly. Connor Murphy was as compliant a listener as you might expect a comatose person to be, and once Evan had talked and talked through every last strand of his tangled anxieties, he felt a portion of the weight lifted from where it had threatened to crush his ribs and collapse in on his heart.

Cynthia hadn't expected to run into him at the hospital, but she didn't hesitate to invite him to join the family for dinner when she did. "I know that last time didn't quite go to plan, but you're more than welcome. Especially this evening, with everything tomorrow with The Connor Project launch - I think it would feel _right_ for us all to be together, to support one another." He didn't miss the mist fogging her dark eyes, gleaming with emotion. He already knew he couldn't have refused, even if he'd had any intention of doing so (which, though it pained him to admit, he didn't - regardless of the hazards it might throw up, the temptation to understand them was too strong for him to turn down a chance to explore it.).

It went well, surprisingly so. Despite his misgivings about the whole thing, conversation actually came pretty naturally after having spent so long around the family; talk of Connor had been replaced with talk of The Connor Project, and _that_ was something Evan was actually prepared to discuss at length without having to lie through his teeth; but that wasn't all, either, there were even jokes, some laughter - tentative, fragile - but _laughter_ nonetheless.

It was only after dinner, when he was waiting upstairs in Connor's bedroom for Larry to be able to give him a lift home, that the true immensity of what they were doing hit him.

Cynthia came in as he was digging his fingers into the blanket. He quickly let it go, and brought his hands to sit in his lap, hoping she wouldn't notice the sweat prickling across his skin as he fought off his doubts, watching with keen intrigue as she smiled and made her way to sit beside him on the bed.

"Larry won't be a minute," she informed him, "He's just doing the dishes - it's his turn, and we don't skip the rota in this house." Cynthia was learning the pattern of Evan's conversation, so she hesitated before she carried on speaking, just in case he had something to add, but not so long he'd become self conscious about the silence. (Somehow, needing to be liked so desperately always made it easier to talk to strangers than to her own family. She'd realized long ago that _better the devil you know_ didn't always hold true.) When he didn't respond beyond a nod, she continued sincerely, "Thank you for coming."

"N-no problem. Uh, thanks, thanks for having me. You're a really great cook."

Cynthia beamed, but she tried to brush it off, "You're very kind, but I've had a lot of practice, that's all; I love cooking for my family." She sighed, _of course_ _she can't just_ stay _content, she won't let herself, not in these circumstances. That's why she needs help._ She bashfully confessed, "It feels strange doing smaller portions while Connor... Can't be with us. It's been really lovely having you here, having a full table, serving up four plates again." She hesitated, softly reaching out to brush her manicured fingers along the hard, white, almost-unblemished cast on his arm, almost maternal. "You know," she added, leaning forwards so that she might be able to see Evan's eyes, even if they were intently fixed on his lap, "I'm sure when Connor comes home, we can manage do dinner for five sometimes? You _must_ know, if you want to, you'll be more than welcome to join us..."

"I... Mrs Murphy, I don't know if - I mean I-I don't, I'm not... Uh, yeah maybe, but I'm not sure that's gonna..." He shook his head, unable to accept; the temptation to give it all up, to confess the truth right then and there, teased him, taunting him that he couldn't possibly make plans for the future with the family, since in all likelihood he wouldn't be around much longer. _You can't just start telling the truth now,_ he reminded himself, his obligation heavy and threatening to make his ribs bow under the weight, _The Connor Project launches tomorrow. The most meaningful thing to come out of this lie is about to start, I can't take it all away now._ Genuinely regretful, he mumbled, "I'm sorry."

To his surprise, she merely swept away his apology with a flick of her wrist, "No, that's fine. I know you and Connor have your whole little _secret_ thing going on. You don't have to do anything the pair of you don't want. I'm just... happy, I guess, so, _so_ happy, he finally has a real friend. He struggled so much in middle school, he was so desperate to be liked, and to make friends, but I guess it just didn't happen for him." She shrugged, the melancholy air of the room seeping into her good mood and tainting it with painful memories of the past. As she had gotten used to, she didn't filter the recollections that came to mind, things she'd never spoke openly about before, not even to her son, but confided in the teenager beside her: "He used to try so hard, you know? Like in the eighth grade, he worked out that he was the youngest Jewish boy in the class, so he'd have the last Bar Mitzvah of the year. He planned to invite all the friends he would've made at the other kids' ones to have the biggest party of them all when his birthday came around. He thought it would be a great chance to make friends. We took him to pick out an outfit, so he'd be ready - he hadn't worn a suit since he was tiny..." Her voice trembled, and she couldn't compose herself. Allowing her grief to bare itself, she said, "He didn't get invited to a single one."

Two things came to mind: firstly, that the single Bar Mitzvah he'd been invited to in the eighth grade was Jared's, and he'd been too nervous to go even though his Mom had already rented him a suit for the day and couldn't get it refunded, and she'd gotten annoyed at him even when he cried, until she saw he really couldn't _stop_ the shaking and the sobbing, because he was having his first big panic attack. Secondly, that he'd refused, actually _begged_ , for his Mom not to force him to celebrate his own Bar Mitzvah, not even just with family and his mom's friends, because he was afraid of what would happen if nobody came. _Please Mom, I don't want it. It's not like anyone else cares if I have one or not._ Now he felt so ungrateful that he disgusted himself.

Mrs Murphy had pulled a tissue from her sleeve, and dabbed delicately at her eyes as she finished the sorrowful anecdote, "The first few times he wasn't invited, he dressed up all in his suit anyway and spent the entire afternoon in his room, staring out of his window just in case the others remembered that he'd been left out and came for him. But by the time his birthday came around, he'd given up, told us he didn't want anything to do with his classmates, he didn't want to celebrate at all. Said it didn't matter, he was only half Jewish anyway and he didn't want it any more. But he _did,_ and I knew it - he never threw out the suit."

He swallowed. "That's... I didn't know. I'm so sorry."

"It's in the past now," Cynthia reminded herself as well as her young companion, waving away her gloomy memories. Alongside the warmth, there was an unmistakable determination to her words as she insisted, "What matters now is the _future_. Now I know Connor's finally made a friend, and maybe when the project is set up, he can start to make some more. I'm sure when you make your speech tomorrow, it will show everyone that he's not such a bad kid, he's just a little bit lost. You'll make them see how sweet he can -"

"- Wait..." Evan shook his head, sure he couldn't have heard what he _thought_ he'd just heard. "No, w-wait, wait, what?" _Speech? A speech? Not_ my _speech, she didn't mean that, did she?_

The forced smile faltered. Cynthia slowly repeated, "Your speech, at the assembly tomorrow? I mean, you've had so many lovely things to tell us about what the two of you got up to together, I just assumed you'd mention some of that. I suppose it's alright if you have something else prepared, but I just thought it would be nice, if other people got to hear something positive about him. I assumed you'd feel the same..." For the first time since meeting him, the light she saw emanating from Evan dimmed, and the doubt crept in; he'd always been so ready to comfort her and her husband, so keen to visit Connor and listen to stories about him, that she simply hadn't anticipated his reticence to spread his message beyond their family.

Evan blinked, hesitant to look at her floundering optimism. His voice was a scarcely intelligible mumble as he awkwardly admitted, "I haven't... There's nothing prepared. I-it's not that I don't want people to see the best in Connor, b-but it's just making a speech, the public speaking, th-that's, uh, it's not, it's not something I'm good at, I'm not very, uh, you wouldn't want me to, believe me." _I can't do that, not even for Mrs Murphy, not even for The Connor Project, I just can't do that. Not with a crowd -_ lying _, in front of a huge crowd. I can't do something like that._ He wished he weren't so ardently certain that he'd be incapable of rising to the occasion. But he knew from experience that he could barely string together a coherent sentence if more than two people were looking at him. There was no way he could handle the entire auditorium without throwing up or breaking down.

"Oh..." He could tell she was trying to preserve a facade of neutrality, but Cynthia's disappointment was strikingly clear. "I just thought..." She started to shake her head, but caught herself. "I'm sorry." She stood, uncharacteristically wooden, and not quite certain what she was apologising for. She took a step towards the door, but hovered in place, unsure of herself, and where exactly the boundary line for interfering with this teenager's self-esteem fell. She turned back to face him, an embarrassed fondness radiating from her. Regardless of her abundant uncertainties, she resolved to stick to the choice she'd made: "Evan, if you can't speak tomorrow, I understand, and it's okay. But please don't be put off because you think that we wouldn't want you to - we _want_ to hear what you have to say, all of us. Just..." She shrugged, and continued her retreat with her friendly smile resuming it's position. It did little to mask the disappointment glistening in her eyes. "Just so you know, in case you have a change of heart." She walked away, leaving him alone in Connor's bedroom once again.

 _Well, shit. They'll be alright, I know they will, it won't, it's not going to matter that much. Unless maybe it really does matter, oh my god I should make a speech. No, no, that's never going to be anything but a bad idea. No speech. It will be okay. I think._ He took the opportunity to surreptitiously slip the borrowed nail polish back onto the shelf, and was about to follow Cynthia downstairs when a second person nudged the door open.

Zoe slipped inside and leaned back against the door frame quietly, as if she wished to become one with the walls, as if maybe she was ashamed to even be trying still to talk to Evan and piece together something more three-dimensional and human from the pixelated fragments he'd told her about her brother. She didn't attempt to sit beside him on the bed despite her hard, tense shoulder blades pressing uncomfortably against the wall - probably she didn't want to risk a repeat performance of the previous week.

It was strange, how differently Evan viewed Zoe now he'd seen her in the intimacy of her home; she'd always gleamed so brightly under the harsh spotlights when the Jazz band played that in all his time dreaming of her, he'd never thought to look at the shadows clinging to her eyes and smile. In the yellow hum of a bedroom light, she was no longer an intangible notion that made his stomach flip and his head spin when he crossed her path, a performer who ceased to exist beyond the stage. She was and had always been a damaged, complex individual, and now he knew that, her presence made everything within him level out and slow to a stop. It was only when he'd seen her in this new light that he came to the realization that Zoe Murphy didn't reflect brightness, she glowed with one all her own.

The only problem was, he was terrified she'd be able to use it to illuminate the truth.

"We'll be closing the assembly tomorrow," she said, after a few heartbeats of silence. "The Jazz band, once you've all done your presentation or speeches or whatever, we're performing the song we did at the Spring concert. I mean, I'm guessing Alana already told you everything, I know she's super organized with all of this stuff, but I figured I'd just... tell you again."

She shrugged, like it didn't matter that both of them knew she had something else entirely to say. Her gentle entrance to a conversation didn't make it sound any less stilted when she mentioned, "I heard you and Mom. The speech thing? I don't..." She inflated and deflated her cheeks, one knee bouncing slightly. Abruptly and in one breath, she quickly explained, "Mom doesn't mean to make you feel bad, she's just _like_ that. Really it doesn't matter if you don't wanna say anything, 'cause Alana's like ninety percent sure there'll be a few other volunteers, and even if there aren't she's got her own thing prepared if no one else will speak. I know she'd rather _not_ , 'cause she thinks it should come more from people who actually know him, but whatever: what I'm saying is it's not like the whole thing's gonna go wrong just because you can't get up on stage and make a speech." She breathed, the worst of what she had to say out of her, and relaxed a little more into the wall. "Just so you know."

"O-okay. I just, it's not that I don't want to, I'm just not... You know." She nodded like she really did. "T-thanks?" Evan stammered, slightly perplexed. She'd been quiet at dinner, and he hadn't otherwise seen her all week, but it was strange of her to dump all of this hastily delivered reassurance on him now. "Um, if you don't mind, uh, w-why are you..."

Zoe lowered her gaze, and pulled a perfectly placed strand of hair forwards just to tuck it back behind her ear. "I figured you might need to hear it, after what Mom said. When Alana e-mailed me, she was trying to convince _me_ to say a few words, too. I told her no, and I just, I get it if you can't do it either, you know? I think we both have... Stuff." Her own anger, Evan's anxiety, both formidable obstacles that she didn't think either of them could overcome. "It's not something you need to feel bad about, honestly."

 _I wish I could listen to you._ Fondness, muted by the knowledge that he didn't deserve her kindness, swept over Evan. He wanted more than anything to deliver all the closure and understanding she deserved. Instead, all he could give her was his guilt-riddled gratitude, "T-thank you. I know it's pathetic, I've told you all this stuff and I _know_ I should say something tomorrow but I don't think I can, and now I'm letting you down, and your parents, and Connor -"

"- I just told you, you're _not_ letting me or Mom down. Or Connor. You've already done enough for him. He..." She rocked on her heels, debating whether it was her place to divulge anything else to him, and whether chipping away at the private burden she bore would even be worth the effort. "He doesn't... You're the only one who even came _close_ to being there for him, Evan. In a way that actually matters, anyway. Everything we do, all the chances he gets, it doesn't make a difference, he doesn't care what we have to say. He doesn't have anything to say to _us_. But with you... You've been there for him, I think you've made him feel less alone. Like maybe what he said would matter if he said it to you. That's..." She blinked a little too fast, swallowed a little too hard. "That's something. It's pretty important, I think."

"Well he, Connor, _he's_ important. He does, the things he said, it does matter. He and I..." _Here you are again, back on lying to her like you really can't help yourself. Zoe, I'm sorry to tell you this but Connor and I barely know each other, except I can't tell you that right now because the Connor Project starts tomorrow and if I tell the truth I'll be letting down the entire school._ Nausea pinched the pit of his stomach. He couldn't be honest, not yet, but he could try for something a fraction closer to reality. Thinking solely of the last time he and Connor had spoke, he slowly recounted "He can tell if you need a person to be there. And I... I often need a person. I never felt so, just, _alone_ , as when I broke my arm this Summer. I'd fallen down, from a tree, and I just, just wanted... to be _seen?_ And then he was there, I didn't even know where he came from, but he was there just when I needed someone to find me. He found me, he was... He was funny and, and patient, I guess, and kind - he didn't make fun of me or anything, he just made some joke and reached out and..." He hesitated, monetarily swept up in curiosity: _What did he see that day, when he came up to me in the computer lab? Some quiet, sweaty kid who never speaks in class and can't stop fidgeting. I was nearly crying, I was writing the letter and trying not to get upset about it. I had a sharpie in my pocket but no names on my cast - he saw that first, that's what he asked about. Did he realize it was blank because I don't have any friends to sign it? He must have done, and then maybe that's why_ \- the dreadful idea washed over him, leaving him cold - _that might be why he wrote so big: he wanted to show me, to show everyone, that no matter what else,_ he'd _been there. For me, that I wasn't on my own, and for_ him _, that he mattered, that he left a mark._ "He tried, he tried so hard to help me," he decided, hindsight leading him to the only conclusion he could gather. "He offered to sign my cast. It doesn't sound like such a big deal, but it really was. He was... He was the only one. He made me feel, I don't know, I guess that it, that things were okay, that I wasn't alone, that I just, sort of, mattered. And then..." _Then he was so paranoid, so used to people turning on him or judging him that he was convinced that I was trying to hurt him with my letter. I wish he'd let me explain. I wish..._ "I wish I could have given that to him, before he... I hope maybe he'll see that for himself one day. No one should have to feel like that."

"I didn't... That's how you broke your arm, huh," She mumbled, her own skin feeling way too tight. There was an ache in her heart that she couldn't repress. "But all of that... That's what the Connor Project is all about, right?" Zoe mused. Evan nodded. His fingertips knotted together, and she observed. "So maybe, if you want..." Evan looked up at her, and she quickly shrugged, a mechanism by now for any time she feared someone suspected she was a little bit invested in Connor or the project. "You could say that. At the assembly tomorrow, obviously you don't have to but, if you change your mind. Maybe just... say that."

* * *

"Students, parents, teachers, and faculty, welcome to our school, and to the official launch of The Connor Project."

Alana stood suspended in the spotlight, refracting dust appearing to sparkle around her where it drifted through the single beam of light. It had been a long time since the auditorium had been so full, or since an audience had sat there so rapt with attention, but the girl's voice didn't tremble at all as she spoke with her practiced, mechanical, friendly smile. Anyone would have thought she wasn't fazed; indeed, Evan didn't know her well enough to recognize that her apparent stability came solely because she was too frightened to move a single thing but her mouth.

Watching on oblivious to her internal struggle, Evan was tucked away in the wings, watching from the safety the curtains. Jared was in the tech room at the back of the theatre, supervising the sounds and lighting, and his silhouette was just about visible through the window that was partially obscured by a sea of heads. Somewhere among them, three quarters of the Murphy family was seated.

Just behind him, the drama students shuffled around, too preoccupied with tying colour-coded ribbons to one another's wrists in preparation for their short performance to bother paying attention to Alana. But Evan stared, transfixed, as his co-president implored, "Before we begin, please could you all turn off your cell phones and other devices? Thank you." A ripple of illuminated faces crossed the audience as some of them pulled out cells to do as she said, casting the glow on themselves in doing so. Evan thought he spotted the Murphys, but the blue-tinged glow died before he could be sure.

"The Connor Project is a non-profit organisation which will aim to lift the stigma and taboo surrounding the topic of mental health, both in the school and the wider community. We hope that in doing so, we will be able to curate an environment of honesty and support, a safe space for discussing mental health and how to start addressing it. And what has brought mental illness, particularly in teenagers, to the forefront of this community's interests?" She paused, and the screen above her was illuminated with a picture of Connor's face. "Two weeks ago, our own classmate, Connor Murphy, sadly attempted to take his own life. Fortunately he was unsuccessful, and is currently in hospital, recovering from his trauma. But this tragedy illustrates just how important it is that we all learn to recognize the signs of mental illness in ourselves and others, that we might prevent others from trying to do what Connor has done. We named this organization after him, as a tribute to our fellow student, in the hope that we might inspire Connor and others like him, and remind him, when he is able to be with us, of how significant he is to all of us." Her pause lingered a little longer, and she revealed the tiniest bit of insecurity as she suggested, "We're going to take a moment to start the conversation right now. If there is anyone here who would like to say a few words about Connor, to remind us all of how important he has been without even noticing it himself, please do come to the stage..."

She watched the crowd eagerly, ready to hone in on the smallest of shuffles; Evan couldn't breathe for all the stiffness in the air; the dust glided through the spotlight like a trail of fallen stars, and the faintest of whines came from the speakers as Alana lowered her microphone incrementally. And nobody made a move.

Time seemed to slow down. The thrumming of Evan's heart was magnified, causing his entire chest to shudder. It pounded through his head, reverberating through his ears, the sole sound in the auditorium. His fingers gripped desperately at the hem of his shirt, crinkling the striped fabric with dangerous pressure. Alana was still scanning the darkness, a shaking hand reaching for the notecards in her pocket, hope seeping out of her with every silent second...

"I would - I-I have something to say."

Alana's head snapped around like a whip, picking him out behind the folds of the curtain. The drama kids didn't seem to have noticed his indistinct mumble, but his co-president nodded, and edged towards him, out of the spotlight. He forced his legs to move, though they could barely support him just standing still, dragging his feet across the floor and out onto the stage. Alana offered him her microphone, holding it out for a few seconds before he could bring himself to disentangle his fingers from the shirt to take it. It felt uncomfortable, oversized, in his sweaty hand. Reluctance oozed from his every move, pitifully clear to see, but he _couldn't_ just watch and wait for the whispers to begin. He wouldn't let the Murphys hear the mutters speculating on the true extent of Connor's isolation, he _knew_ what that was like, and he couldn't let them see that. Alana touched his arm, an anxious, uncertain smile attempting to reassure him before she hurried away to the shelter of the curtains.

Evan stepped into the light:

"Hi - g-good morning, uh, e-everyone, I'm Evan. I'm co-President of the C-Connor Project, and I would just, today I would like to tell - say just a few words to you today a-about my, uh..." It was too late to run - he'd die before he ran away in front of the entire student body. He wanted to stare at his feet, only he was afraid he'd look weird, and people would start _talking_ if he looked weird, so he focused on the dazzling spotlight, and thought of Mr and Mrs Murphy, of Zoe inspired to give Connor another chance, and of Connor himself, alone in hospital and so lonely he hadn't even bothered to write his own note. _No one deserves to just slip away like that._ "M-my best friend. C-Connor, Connor Murphy."

He imagined he was in the hospital, sitting with Connor and Zoe, painting his nails while he told Zoe a story to help ease her troubled mind. "I would like to tell you, uh, about the day I broke my arm. Connor and me, we were at Ellison State Park this Summer, walking, w-walking by the trees, a-and Connor said he wondered what the world would look like from all the way up there, so we, uh, so w-we decided to... find out? We, we started climbing, slowly, just, h-higher and higher and, uh, I was 30 feet up before I stopped."

Panic was growing in his chest, but it was clenched too tight, there wasn't room, it was about to spill out of him, he could sense it... the story took on life of it's own as his breathing faltered, ragged. "I couldn't, I couldn't really see the sky any more, t-the sun was blocked out, and I-I could only see the ground below, a-and I looked around, and I couldn't see anyone down there. I thought..." Sweat was beading on his forehead and upper lip, and the microphone was slippery in his hands. He could taste acid in the back of his throat; he felt sick. He couldn't relive it. He had to find a new truth, a better version of his story. It had to be real, tangible enough to hold on to, or he'd fall. _Again._ "I looked back over my shoulder, though, a-at the tree, and I-I-I saw him, I saw Connor and he saw me, a-and he told me, keep going, j-just hold on, keep going, and he smiled at me in that way he always did, a-and then I just I j-just, well I... Then I fell."

The audience was transfixed. He could sense a hundred pairs of eyes staring at him, stunned, horrified, hungry. His own eyes squeezed shut, his face contorting beyond his control. His hands felt damp, the microphone was slippery between them, and still he carried on, "I lay there, uh, o-on the ground, feeling just so, s-so, just -"

The mic slipped out of his hands, crashing to the ground with a thump and a wail. On instinct, Evan jumped back, out of the spotlight. The story wasn't finished, but he didn't want to go on, _I want to go home and lie down on the floor and just cry. I want my Mom, I need Mom_. He was shivering, his breathing becoming increasingly loud, a sting welling behind his eyes.

Maybe they couldn't see him out of the spotlight. Or maybe they wouldn't care. He could escape, couldn't he? He glanced around to the wings, where Alana had inched out onto the stage, concern evident on her face. He shook his head, she came towards him, and reached for the dropped microphone. Hastily hiding his face from her, he knelt down to pick up the mic himself, wiping his moist face along the length of his arm as he did so. The rough, hardened cast scraped uncomfortably across his nose, and he paused, still knelt on the floor.

His eyes peeled open, and he saw the name, the oversized, obnoxious lettering written on his arm. A mark Connor had meant to leave behind, perhaps. And a reminder that Evan was not alone, _not alone, not alone_. He stood up, one hand struggling to hold on to the mic firmly this time, the other finding its way to his cast, tracing the lettering on the coarse fabric. He took a deep breath, diluting his panic for a moment, and stepped back into the light.

"T-the funny, the funny thing was, when I first hit the ground, for a minute I thought I was gonna die. I was alone, and numb, and I-I just lay there, thinking that... I thought no one was ever coming to find me." Alana was backing away, pride shining in her eyes even through her glasses. "But then, uh, t-then I looked up, and, C-Connor was there. He... He came to get me. And in that moment, I knew, more than I'd ever known anything, that I wasn't - alone? - That I was important, that _everybody_ is. That's the gift he gave me, the gift he gave all of us. I just hope we can... get a chance to give that back." He swallowed, and lifted his voice a little.

"Being around Connor isn't always easy. He doesn't always know what to say. It isn't always easy for him to talk to people, he ends up... just, saying the wrong things, sometimes, or not saying anything at all. It, it's difficult for him, to tell his parents how much he loves them, to tell Zoe that she just, that she means the entire world to him. He's always been scared that because he feels like that, what if no one actually notices him, what if in his whole life, what if he didn't... _matter_ at all?" His eyes were filling, but he embraced his terrified misery. "So, I know you're not with us at the moment, but whatever's going on right now, Connor, I hope somehow, y-you can see this, a-and _hear_ this, and know, i-in your, your heart, that you matter. That you'll _always_ matter, to all of us. You're not... You don't have to be on your own with it, because you're not, you're _not_ alone. I promise you, there are people right here who want to help you, if you'll let them, i-if you can just give us a chance, you'll just... You will be _found_."

The first clap sounded from behind the curtain, singular and loud, and it was quickly taken up by the rest of the auditorium, a rumbling cacophony that rose and soared and lifted into whooping cheers. Evan felt like he might fold in on himself like a garden chair, the determination draining from him as soon as he finished speaking, but then there was a hand on his back and Alana was at his side again, whispering something he couldn't make out over the drumming inside and outside of his head, and ushering him off to the side, back behind the curtains, and through to the classroom directly connected to the backstage area. He allowed himself to be led, and plopped down onto a stool. He buried his face in his hands, deaf even to the chatter of the drama students as they attempted to descend on him, abandoning their places to follow them.

"It's Evan, right? That was -"

"Are you alright? Is he alright? He looks really -"

"Hey man, have my water -"

"You were amazing, omigod group hug -"

"No! _No_ , no, clear some room people, no questions, no hugging Evan, and be quiet! The audience will be able to hear you," Alana silenced them all with a vicious hiss, the fiercest she could be without going above a whisper. Given that the audience continued to cheer, her claim may not have been accurate, but it earned her the drama students' attention. She did, however, take the water bottle one of the boys (he was wearing a shiny black nylon wig that reached his shoulders - the characters in their piece were meant to be entirely fictional, but his was clearly influenced by Connor himself.) was holding out. "Thank you. Sorry about that. Can you all just clear out, though, please? I think we need a moment, go back to the stage. You guys are on next, and I'm not going to introduce you because it would just be anticlimactic after Evan's amazing speech. So you basically need to go on as soon as the applause has stopped. Okay?"

One of Alana's best qualities was her ability to show when she was definitively serious. The drama students didn't bother arguing, but slinked off, most around to the other side of the stage, a couple to the very edges of the curtains. Alana sighed, relieved, and bent down to look at Evan, though his palms were still welded into his eye sockets. She spoke slowly, still worried at his reinvigorated quaking, as she checked, "Evan, are you okay? Can you hear me alright? I think you're having a panic attack, does it feel like you are?"

"I-I..." He shook his head. His voice was lower than usual, utterly exhausted. The applause was slightly muffled by the curtains and door between himself and that audience, at least, and he could think a little bit clearer. "I don't know? Uh, maybe, yeah, b-but I, I'm f-fine. Sorry. I just need a minute." He rubbed at his eyes and tried to recall the old breathing technique that was meant to help keep him present and focused.

Alana nodded, sympathetic. "Okay, that's okay. Here, have this, I don't think he looked sick so it should be fine to drink," she handed him the water bottle and, despite her own reassurance, cringed to see him gulp down someone else's mouth-germs so aggressively. "Slowly, though, Evan. Hey, you did really well. I know you didn't want to say anything, but I'm really glad you did. It really captured exactly what the Connor Project is all about. You should be proud."

Evan nodded, but didn't reply.

"So... Is it okay if I leave you? I'll lock the stage door so the drama students don't come back, and I'll be with you as soon as possible, I just want to check in with Jared real quick - he mentioned setting up a video camera in the audience, I want to make sure he did, hopefully it recorded your speech." She was already backing away, unsure about whether she should leave him unattended but anxious to find her answer as soon as possible. "I know, I should have just done it on my phone, right? I didn't think, and now I just really hope we have it, I think it could really - _sorry,_ this room is occupied," she turned around as the other door opened, only stopping when she saw who it was. "Oh. Uh, hi, hey."

"Hey." Zoe answered Alana, but only had eyes for Evan.

Her presence finally urged him to lift his head and look to her. "T-Thanks, Alana. You can go."

She gladly obliged, retreating at a rapid pace, leaving Zoe to stride towards the boy, purposeful and intense. "I thought you weren't going to say anything?"

"I wasn't, I'm sorry. It's just, no one else was going to, a-and it wouldn't have been fair, someone had to do something. I-I'm sorry, if I said anything you didn't -"

"No, no," Zoe insisted, her words softening, expanding and trembling with all the feeling that was crammed into them. She dragged another stool and sat right next to him, so close she was glowy around the edges. "I'm not annoyed, it's the opposite, I can't... I know you've told me that story before, but I didn't... You didn't say it like that. You can't know how much it means to us, Evan, to all of us. The audience went crazy, and my parents are crying, and -" She faltered, taken aback by his awe and fear: "You don't know what you've done, do you?" Her own eyes were misting over, shining with tears and honesty. "With everything you've done, you've given us, my family and... and me... it means so much."

"No..." _It's not real, none of it_. "I didn't -"

"Evan, you've given us _hope_."

She darted forwards, then, catching his mouth with hers. He froze, his lips stiff with shock, caught off guard and with no idea what to do. But then Zoe had her arms reaching around him, clumsily pulling herself close to him and forcing out the air from between them, and all resistance, all self-control vanished. He allowed himself to lose his mind as the girl kissed him, and he kissed her back.

* * *

A few miles away, in a room which had scarcely been unattended in the past two weeks, a boy was finally managing to open his heavy eyes, only to find that, regardless of what had just been said of him, he _was,_ inextricably, utterly, completely, _alone._

* * *

 **A/N:** **DUN DUN DUUUUUUUUNNNNN!**

 **The shit is about to hit the fan (and it's about to get funky. Just like my neck which I somehow managed to throw out this morning and DAMN IT I AM IN PAIN)**

 **So I know a lot of this was basically lifted from the show (or older versions of the script) but I hope I wove in enough of my own stuff that it wasn't tooooo overly familiar. And even if it was, PLEASE STICK WITH ME because from here on in it leaves the canon waaaay behind.**

 **Also we know Evan and Jared are Jewish. In my heart, Cynthia is also Jewish, and I headcanon that Larry isn't very religious himself but he comes from an Irish Catholic family, so Connor and Zoe are raised in a mixture of both religions.**

 **I was so tense writing this chapter, honestly. I'm glad it's out here now! And I hope you have been sufficiently engaged to join me as we journey on, with Connor having finally woken up... Please leave feedback!**


	13. Chapter 13

**A/N: HOOOOOOT DAMN I HAVE WAITED SO LONG FOR THIS MOMENT!**  
 **Except also not because a certain someone who just did a certain thing is** really hard **to write but I don't wanna say much about that until the end. Also sorry for the cliffy, but you know I had to do it to you.**  
 **Mkay so I did some research on what happens when you wake from a coma, most of what I found was that people tend to be kinda confused and also really panicky, so I guess that's coming.**

 **Triggers for lots of discussion and ideation of suicide, intrusive self-hating thoughts, and panic attacks. PLEASE take care of yourself, and don't read anything that might damage your emotional wellbeing.**

* * *

 **These Broken Parts - Chapter 13**

It started and ended with a letter, but it was waking up that made it hard to see where the lines blurred.

He was eight years old and wading fully-clothed in the creek, water lapping at his nose, struggling to find the broken remnants of their toy plane before his parents realized he'd run off during a game of hide and seek. The immense weight dragging on his limbs, the inability to speak or move for fear of the water flooding his mouth, the occasional distorted sounds, flashes of light glinting on the surface from time to time, it was all vaguely reminiscent of being submerged. Only this time it felt more like he'd tripped and gone under completely, several feet of water stretching above and holding him down for days, _weeks_ on end, all the while his parents were busy searching among the trees, oblivious.

Breaking the surface was the worst part. The familiar white noise clogging his ears drained away, and gradually he became aware that he was _in_ his body, not drifting lost in memory someplace far away from it. There was air in his chest, and a pulse fluttering there too, and he wasn't quite certain but it felt like his neck was vibrating with the strength of it, because even if his brain didn't want to recognize it, his heart was convinced he was very much alive and very much alarmed. His hands were unsteady even though they were laid flat at his sides, and there was a stiffness all over. Except it wasn't the kind of stiffness that would inhibit him if he really set his mind to it, and his lips were dry when he pressed them together, which must mean he could move them if he really wanted to, and there was something vaguely musical coming from nearby. _Vaguely_ being the key word.

Connor's dry eyes peeled open. He saw the lamp above him, unfamiliar as the dusk-pink wall opposite. He dared not crane his neck to investigate, but even from that position he could see there were some balloons and a banner with the bold writing, ' _The Connor Project_ '.

He closed his eyes, willing his vision to disappear again, to go back to being submerged and disconnected, his consciousness hiding away from the world - he held his breath, as if that might help him to die where his most recent effort had clearly failed. His pulse only raced faster, drumming in his chest and neck and stomach, mocking him, taunting him, _you're still here, you're still here, you couldn't do it, you failed, you failed..._

A beeping wail erupted somewhere behind his head, making him jump, and then he was pulling dry air into his dry mouth, eyes squeezed tightly shut but somehow leaking tears, all the while his head was disoriented by the strength of his heartbeat, _why won't it just stop, stop, I wanted it to stop_...

"Connor, Connor, okay hun, it's alright, you're okay. Connor, are you listening, hun? Are you awake? I think you're awake now, aren't you. I know it's confusing but I need you to breathe, I need you to try and calm down, please. I need you to do that for me, Connor. You're safe, you're in the hospital, you're in good hands."

There was something on him, a stranger's hands touching his arm and his chest and his head, and he wanted to run but there were tubes sticking into him and holding him down, and his legs felt paper-thin, so flimsy he couldn't work out how to make them move, so he just laid there, quaking until the pounding in his ears gave way to the electro-melodic chiming coming from the foot of the bed. His squeezed eyes relaxed a little, and his gasping subsided into shallow breaths.

"Good, very good. Nice job hun, you're doing great. I know it's tough. A lot of people find it really scary waking up when they've been in a coma for as long as you have. But hey, at least you're still here, right?"

Connor gave no reply. _Coma. Still here._ Even amidst his confusion, a wry comment crossed his mind, _maybe you didn't realize what I was trying to do, but still being here wasn't exactly what I was aiming for_. He didn't say that, though, but reopened his eyes - it was a little easier this time.

"There we go." It was a young nurse at his side, judging by the peppermint scrubs. He was smiling, fake and plastic-looking, like he _knew_ the boy before him would have preferred it if they'd just left him to die but protocol dictated he wasn't allowed to even think of appologising for saving him. "Welcome back, Connor."

"Wh-" his dry throat wouldn't permit anything more than a whine to escape. Quickly the nurse reached over him and brought a plastic cup to his mouth. Connor swallowed slowly, _it's going to choke you,_ the sensation utterly foreign, _you're going to drown,_ but it did the job: he cleared his throat, and at last he was able to ask the first question that had come to mind when his consciousness returned: "Why is the beep-boop music here?"

The nurse laughed, refusing to give a response that made an ounce of sense: "Your friend picked it out specially, I think he thought you'd like it. He sure _seems_ like he knows you pretty well. Still, maybe you two should have a word about your music preference if you're not really an _Owl City_ kind of guy." He offered Connor another sip of water, amusement leaving his face as he remembered the formalities involved with a patient waking from a coma. "I should let your family know you're back with us. It's a bit a shame they weren't here, but I'm sure they'll be delighted."

"Huh," a smile twitched at one corner of his mouth, a self-depreciating skepticism he couldn't resist. "Doubtful."

"There's barely been an hour that at least one of your relatives hasn't been here these past two weeks," the man replied mildly, evidently having decided he wouldn't argue, as such, with a suicidal teenager. "They've been desperate for a development. I think I heard your Dad had taken a work vacation so he could be around more, and your Mom's as-good-as moved in. Your sister's been in and out, and your friend has been coming by a lot too. They're all really worried about you. I'm sure they'd be here right now if it wasn't for that special assembly your classmates set up - it's for the launch of their project, they've been tagging the hospital in some of their Facebook updates." He shrugged, assuming Connor's perplexed expression was just another side effect of the coma. "I'll go and give them a call, and see if I can get hold of a doctor to make sure you're all good in terms of movement and memory, other than being a little dazed. If you need anything, there's a button just there on your left."

He walked away, leaving the boy alone again.

Connor wouldn't have expected to have company when he woke - not that he'd been counting on waking up at all, but in the past when it had been a hypothetical concept rather than a fixed feature of his recent past, he'd imagined that if it somehow went wrong, none of his family would have anything like sympathy for him; they'd cry, then yell, then lecture him, but then they'd leave him be and get on with living their lives, and sooner or later he'd get on with ending his. He couldn't even say he regretted their absence, because if the nurse was right and his failed attempt hadn't driven them to disown him, it could only mean they'd been encouraged to smother him, suffocating him with their self-help books and superstitious remedies and pledges of _'coming together as a family to deal with this, son'_. Connor had heard those same speeches too many times already. He'd only just remembered what it was like to breathe, he didn't want them stealing the air from him straight away.

So the solitude was fine, but there was plenty about waking up that _wasn't_. It was bizarre, unnerving, even, that he could see balloons and banners at the foot of his bed. When he twisted his neck to the right, the window was obscured by flowers in vases, and when he swiveled to the left, there were cards, presumably not from his family because _why the ever-living hell would they write cards when they've been right here?_ But that left the question of who else would bother, and that peculiar mystery made their very presence unnerving. He counted eleven, which he was fairly sure was more people than he had even spoken to in the last year, and definitely more relatives than he could recall being alive. Everything about it warned him that something was wrong, but, cat-like, he couldn't resist the temptation to find out exactly who in his life had enough pity that they'd bother spending four dollars on a get-well-soon card. ( _Too bad I can only see these now I'm actually like, awake_. He revelled in the irony of wasted intentions.)

He didn't think about it enough to have formed any expectations before reaching over and opening one, but the idea of seeing a card signed by everyone in his form group wouldn't ever have been on the table. Neither would the one which, at a glance, looked like it had been signed by most of his grade, or the one with all his teachers' unfeeling, generic comments inside, or the one which said it was _"with love from the Jazz Band"_ , or - immediately the most suspect one - the card filled with a dozen names, and summarized with the message, _"Best wishes from The Connor Project and all of our associates."_ There it was again, that name, _his_ name, and under literally any other circumstances the very idea of people thinking of him, using his _name_ for any time at all, would have set his skin crawling.

As it was though, he was barely out of the longest sleep of his life, and wired up to too many machines to count. It wasn't surprising those factors helped to take off the edge. It was weird, he knew that - dazed or not, he knew that the last he checked, he didn't matter enough to warrant cards, or have friends who would pass them around for everyone to sign and pick out shitty beep-boop music for him to listen to.

Regardless, the lurking sense of foreboding wasn't enough to deprive him of a nap.

* * *

"Is he - are you sure, can he... Connor? Sweetheart, it's Mom, Mom and Dad."

Too late, he got the idea to fake being asleep; his eyes had flickered open of their own accord before he could play dead and avoid their weird family reunion any longer. Even so, he refused to look at his anxiously hovering parents, fixing his focus instead on his bedsheets; he was more than well-versed in dealing with their disappointment. He'd learned to anticipate every criticism that was bound to come his way, and since he was halfway incapacitated, he had no hope of avoiding it this time round. The most he could do was clench his jaw and hope the buzzing in his ears would help him to tune it out, like twisting the knob on a radio to channel static rather than songs.

"Larry, Larry look, he's -"

"We don't have to talk about him like he's not right here any more, Cynthia," his father reminded. He chuckled, though it sounded stunted and forced - like he was playing the dad in one of those cheesy sitcoms about the perfect, neurotypical nuclear family. _That would make me one of the loveably goofy kids_. Connor's jaw twitched at the notion, but he wouldn't go as far as to smile, else Larry might think that he was actually impressed by his performance. The man took a seat near the foot of the bed, his suit inching into Connor's peripheral vision. "Welcome back, Connor. It's... good to see you."

"Sorry, baby, the nurse said you woke up a few hours ago. We wouldn't have left you so long, we would have been here straight away, it's just we didn't notice the calls - they said to switch cells to silent during the assembly, we didn't think to turn them back on afterwards because we went straight through to the fair. And then Zoe had vanished somewhere with Evan, and we couldn't get a hold of them but we couldn't leave them at school, so... We should have been here sooner. But, we're here _now_ , sweetheart, and we're always going to be here, alright?" Her voice was sweet and light, and it reminded him of when she used to read him a story after a nightmare. Having made her peace with her guilty conscience, Cynthia took his silence for acceptance, and sat down near his head - suddenly he wished he was sitting rather than lying down, he felt way too exposed like that, with his parents so close to him - and set her hand on the bed, knuckles just brushing his shoulder. He longed to cringe away, but he hadn't quite figured out how bodily autonomy worked and he was too afraid of dislodging some wire to attempt anything radical. Ironic, really, how much he feared becoming detached from his literal lifeline. Considering how he came to be there, and everything.

He didn't even have to look at them to feel the uncomfortable heat of his Mom's hopeful eyes on him. It was almost enough to counter his Dad's coolness as he prompted with false nonchalance, "Connor, your Mother is talking to you... normally it's polite to reply."

"Oh?" A flicker of bitter amusement sparked to life, and the corner of his mouth twitched upwards; it was always funny to him, to see how hard his dad found it to conceal his frustration. He only really made the effort when his Mom was there anyway, and Connor liked to count how long it took for her to pick up on his blatant passive aggression and chastise him. _One, two_ , Larry grunted one of his trademark manly-man sounds, _three, four, and -_

"Oh, _stop it_ , Larry," right on cue, Cynthia waved away his criticisms, defensive as ever over her son. "He's still adjusting. He's - _you're_ -" she corrected herself, swiftly remembering that she was no longer discussing Connor's future as an abstract concept, but as a genuine possibility for the teenage boy before her, "on the right track now, Con-Con. The doctors, they ran their tests on you and we know what you've been taking, but it's okay, they've been helping your body cleanse itself of those addictions."

"They've reduced your dependency while you've been under. It's gonna take some work to keep it up, from _all_ of us, but by the time you leave here they reckon you'll have a really strong starting point for kicking the habit once and for all. _If_ ," Larry emphasized, "you're willing to give it a try." Connor's almost-smirk had dropped, leaving his lips a thin, pale line; The situation had ceased to be even vaguely funny. He heard Larry inhale deeply, not quite like he was gearing up for another dejected grunt, more like he was taking a moment to think before he said something important; his pause was heavy and dense, but he couldn't be rushed as slowly, purposefully, he selected each word: "We know you've been through a horrible thing. We don't necessarily understand it, and I guess because of that we haven't really been able to give you the support you needed. We didn't... We weren't aware you were struggling so much, we didn't know how bad it had become, and... and maybe we should have. But we do want to help you, Connor. If you're willing to put in the effort, we are too, we'll help you to give up the drugs, and figure out how we can manage whatever you're feeling. I'd give you my word on that."

 _That's one hell of an assumption._ Ideally he wanted to shrug, but it came off as more of a wiggle. Which, judging by their expressions, didn't actually convey anything much. Time to resort to words. "Nah, thanks."

"Sorry, what?" Cynthia's hand jolted back, a sharp, shocked edge to her voice; she knew exactly what she'd heard, but she definitely wasn't happy about it.

Connor swallowed - his mouth was weirdly full of saliva - and clarified flatly, "I don't think it's fair to expect me to give up the one thing that makes you bearable. The weed's staying."

" _Connor_ ," his mother's voice was closer to scolding than it had been in a long, long time. "That's a hurtful thing to say, especially after all you've put us through, and all we've done to try and make it easier for you to give up. We know, Evan s _howed_ us, you've been wanting to quit for a very long time, well we're going to help you and you're going to succeed, even if you're too stubborn to admit that's what you want. We know the _truth_ now," she insisted, with a definite nod to her husband. He placed his palm on her shoulder and squeezed, supportive of her long-awaited stand against their son's excesses. Both turned their attention to Connor, expressions identical and sure.

 _Weird, given that nothing they just said was true._ Connor frowned, genuinely perplexed. "What... What do you mean? What's... happened."

"We know, Connor," his Mom replied, even more melodramatic than she was usually prone to be, _I bet she's been binging Netflix on the hospital wifi all this time._ "We invited Evan to see you - well, we thought it was only right, after we read your note. We've been getting to know him these past few weeks, and he's told us all about the two of you."

"Ev-an." Connor tried out the name, trying to put it to a face. _Evan? There's... right, there's an Evan in my English class. And there was... there was an Evan in the computer lab that day, and I think I said his whole name out loud, Evan Hansen_. The memories closest to when he'd tried to end it were kind of fuzzy, pixelated, like the TV at his Nanna's care home, and he was standing precariously on a chair, stretched up halfway out the window with an arial in his hand, searching for a clear signal. _Hansen, Evan Hansen. I said his whole name because I read his whole name. I read his whole name because it was written on some paper, an assignment, a letter - fuck. Evan Hansen wrote a creepy note about Zoe, and I took it. And kept it? And what? I kept it. So I had it with me, maybe. A letter I had when I tried - right. They think it was a suicide note. To him? And..._ He regarded his Mom's hopeful expression. _And also maybe adopted him?_ "Evan Hansen told you things about me?"

"Oh Honey, you don't need to be embarrassed about it," Cynthia gushed, failing spectacularly to identify the bewilderment prevailing over every other sensation racing through Connor's mind. "We know how important your friendship is, to the both of you. He was devastated to hear what happened, he came here to see you as soon as he found out and he's barely been away since. Apart from this last week, when he's been busy organising the project, he's spent days sitting here with us all, telling us about the two of you. I guess nearly losing you made him realize he didn't want to pretend you weren't friends?"

 _Now we can both pretend we have friends._ The memory pierced through the haze clinging to his brain. _Shit. I said that. Yeah, I said those words to him, and now he's_ literally _gone and pretended to be my friend, which, ha, is why you don't go saying things like that to people who genuinely don't have friends. Why did I even bother - oh right, because I felt bad about the whole he-actually-has-no-friends thing. Didn't stop him from being a dick though, did it, he wrote that stuff about Zoe to freak me out, he's a fucking - fuck's sake - he's a fucking asshole and he's stolen my fucking parents, what kind of sick freak_ \- his mind was sprinting faster than he could keep up, it was all he could do to close his eyes and allow the dizziness to pulse through him and make him tremble viciously. He could hear his heart monitor speeding up, and there was a growing feeling of panic within him, but his anger, his betrayal, wouldn't permit him to stop.

"Sweetie, please don't do that, calm down, it's alright baby, listen," Cynthia soothed, daring to touch his damp forehead with her cool palm. "Breathe, honey, it's okay, you're okay, baby." She turned to Larry, more worried than she allowed the boy to realize. Lowering her voice, she said, "Call a nurse."

"He's alright," Larry pacified, his own fear audible as he leaned closer, to squeeze Connor's fingers. "You're good, right, Connor? You're... You're fine, you're awake now, and you just need to stay calm. We'll figure it out, alright, everything: the drugs, your feelings, whatever. It will be fine, it _will_." The lawyer wasn't exactly the best at calming people down, but there was something about the steady pragmatism in his tone that coaxed Connor to breathe deep and slow, if only to regain the control to extract his fingertips from the man.

His eyes opened once more, and he was back being unable to face their scared expressions. It wasn't like he meant to keep upsetting them like that, he just had a tendency to ruin things, and hurt people on the way. Connor pushed himself backwards, his neck sliding up the pillows so he was almost sitting, and reached for more water. His chest still felt damp and cold from the terror and spite and shock, and really he knew he should sleep or ask a doctor for some more drugs or do literally anything marginally less destructive than his current plan. Nevertheless, against his better judgement, he said it anyway: "I need to talk to him. Soon, please."

"Evan?" Cynthia checked, "He should be just outside, Zoe too, we can send them both -"

"No Zoe. Not yet. Just Evan." _I know he's probably been perving over her, no fucking way I want a front row seat to see._

The woman swiftly masked her disappointment at the abrupt dismissal, and nodded. It wasn't the grudge against his sister that drove Connor, at least not this time. It was more the opposite, really, in that he could sense the rage burning within him crawling along his arteries, and he'd rather save it all for the culprit rather than unleash it on an innocent party.

* * *

Evan's knee wouldn't stop bouncing. Repetitive as it was, he couldn't stop watching the erratic jolting, because then he might have to look at _Zoe_ , and he couldn't do that. Beside him, her own leg rocked from side to side, occasionally bumping into him. She didn't dare look at him, either. One second they'd been kissing, then Zoe had disentangled her arms from around his neck to join the Jazz band performance, leaving him reeling in dazzled euphoria. Then the show was over and Zoe was back at his side and pulling him along with one hand while she wiped tears from her eyes with the other; then they were in a storage closet and although it was mostly dark the dust caught in the dim light and painted Zoe blurry around the edges. Then their mouths were meshing together again, half-kissing, half-crying, because despite the corner of some cabinet prodding into Evan's back and Zoe accidentally knocking a recorder off a shelf and Evan full-on punching a cymbal as he tried to readjust, at least their tears could be invisible in the dark. They burst apart uncomfortably suddenly, when Zoe somehow got her ankle trapped in what Evan described as a curly trumpet but she told him was a sousaphone, and he was afraid it might be sprained even though she said it was fine. But then she sort of fell onto the drum kit while she was trying to pull it off her foot, so Evan insisted on leaving the closet to check she wasn't really injured. They were perched on a bench outside and staring with red cheeks at Zoe's red ankle when Larry found them and told them they had to go to the hospital urgently.

His cheeks were still ablaze and he didn't like to think about how he was sat next to a girl he'd spent the morning crying onto and kissing, not necessarily as two separate things.

"Evan." The door creaked open, and Cynthia and Larry stepped out. Both wore a slightly hunched position, as if they'd tried to make themselves appear smaller, less threatening, to their son, or like his lack of interest had finally broken something within them.

"How is he?" The question was immediately out of Zoe's mouth, her silence forgotten in the urgency. She straightened her spine, sitting upright and staring her parents straight in the face. While Connor was comatose, she found she was mostly satisfied with his unchanging state of unconsciousness, however when he was so tangible, so close to being something more than a brother-shaped lump, her thirst was born anew.

"He's fine. Speaking, moving - _arguing,_ naturally," Larry said, jaw clenching momentarily before he remembered his sheer relief that Connor was even _capable_ of arguing. "He wants to see Evan, alone." Zoe slumped back in her seat, frustration seeping out of her. "You don't mind that, do you?" He was taken back by how visibly disappointed his daughter was at being slighted by her brother. Zoe didn't enjoy being around Connor and he didn't give her any reason to, that had been the situation as he'd last understood it.

Leaping on the opportunity, Evan offered, "I don't mind waiting, if you want to, y-you, you should go in, he's your brother, maybe I should just go home, maybe? I don't wanna get in the way, you can see him, I'll leave." He was halfway to standing before he'd finished making his excuses. _Maybe if I can get out now, Connor will give up on trying to find me, and I'll just avoid him for the rest of my life._

"He wants _you,_ " Zoe replied, significantly cooler than she had been when she was pushing him up against a filing cabinet to kiss all the air out of him. "Go on."

"I-I don't..." Evan unfurled himself fully away from his seat. He'd known he would have to confront his lies sooner or later, since fleeing the country with whatever he'd saved over the Summer wasn't really a valid option. He'd just hoped he'd have more time to prepare; as it was, two pairs of expectant eyes wouldn't give up staring up him, while a third refused to even acknowledge he was there. He should have stayed at school, but it was too late to avoid the situation now. His legs didn't want to comply with the inevitable, and he knew he must look utterly ridiculous shuffling towards the door with his reluctant feet dragging on the ground, but he had other priorities at that moment than how the family perceived him. _It won't matter in a few minutes anyway, they'll realize what I've done and hate me for it no matter what, so why does it make a difference if they think I walk weird too?_ He passed Larry and Cynthia, and allowed his hand to rest on the door for a few seconds. _This is where it all ends._ It was almost cruel that his lie was to be unveiled just as Zoe had kissed him. Then again he supposed it was also cruel of him to trick Zoe into _wanting_ to kiss him. _You deserve what you get._ He entered the room and quickly shut the door behind him, _At least they might not hear it if he yells at me_.

The knowledge that there was a glass panel in the door was the only thing that kept him from cramming himself immediately into the corner furthest from the bed, instead he inched towards Connor's still-pale form. He was so much more intimidating with his eyes open.

* * *

 _How dare he. How fucking dare he, who the fuck does he think he is, coming in here looking like he's the fucking victim?_ Connor couldn't bring himself to do anything but stare, quiet fury smouldering in his dark, narrowed eyes. Evan Hansen was not much to look at, curling in on himself and picking at his cast and touching his face and scuffing his feet on the floor. But he was right, he had to be right, about what the kid had done when Connor was beyond helpless to stop him. _He didn't give a shit about what it would do to you. He thinks you're a freak, he's been laughing at you this whole time, he doesn't deserve any sympathy, no matter how pathetic he is_. Connor lifted his chin, sharp and defiant. "Well sit down, then."

"...W-what?"

"I said _sit_ , you mumble like shit and I've not spoken in weeks, so sit the fuck down or this conversation is never gonna work, is it?" He raised his voice - he couldn't help it, after weeks of feeling nothing there was more anger bubbling inside him than he knew what to do with, filling him and scalding him and burning him behind the eyes. Evan flinched. Connor couldn't bring himself to care. He swallowed the lump in his parched throat and tried to steady himself, to calm down the insistent, rapid beeping on his monitor; The last thing he wanted was for a nurse to burst in. He watched as the small boy hastily hurried to a seat. At the foot of the bed, _furthest away_. He didn't think he'd have the ability to remain calm if he asked him to move closer, so he let it slide. "So go on," Connor invited, an icy threat hiding in his words despite his obvious inability to act on it. He had a feeling even an empty threat would be enough to terrify Evan. "What'd you do?"

His mouth opened, but no sound came out; his chin was trembling, and his lips kept contorting into different shapes as if he was reaching for the right words that simply wouldn't come, because in a situation like that the _right words_ didn't exist. He closed his mouth, but his lip, swallowed hard. Wiped his face, blinked away moisture from his eyes, and sniffed. "I-I, I just, I'm s-so, so s-sorry. I didn't, I swear I honestly d-didn't... I just, it was y-your parents, t-they were so upset, a-and I didn't know, I couldn't tell them... I didn't mean for it to happen. I'm so sorry, Connor, I didn't mean for any of this, I-I didn't think it would drag on so long, like I thought it would be a couple of days, a-and if I could just make things a little better for a _couple of days_ then maybe, m-maybe everyone would understand, and it wouldn't matter, but it didn't, it took so long a-and they just kept asking me to come back and then everyone at school heard about it and, I-I don't know, I just kind of had to keep going along with it. I'm... I'm so sorry."

He looked sincere enough. Scratch that, he looked like he was on the brink of a mental breakdown, rocking slightly, head shaking, a whine at the edge of his words and sweat beading visibly on his forehead. But it still didn't make sense; he was trying to be gentle, if only so the kid didn't vomit or pass out, but he still flinched as Connor quietly insisted, "That's not a fucking explanation, Evan Hansen. It's an apology, and I barely know what for. Tell me what happened."

"Y-Your parents," Evan swallowed and sniffed, struggling not to let the moisture in his eyes fall. "T-they found my letter, the one y-you took from me two weeks ago? You had it with you when they found you, a-and it was addressed to me, so they thought you wrote it. I couldn't, i-it's... They were desperate, okay, I _know_ it was wrong, a-and it's completely my fault, but they needed to believe you didn't feel totally alone, so I let them. And..." He grimaced, and his chin was quivering again. "And I told-told them some stuff, that wasn't true, like just, just about you, stuff kinda that they wanted to, to hear, a-and how we were close, like we've been r-really close for a long time. They think we're friends. B-best friends, technically."

Evan wiped his face with a trembling hand, and Connor couldn't stand to look at his pity-parade. He closed his eyes to block him out, but as soon as he did, paranoid wariness made them snap open again; The idea of the boy having spent days at his bedside chilled him. Staring blankly ahead, he thought back to what his Mom said: "You told them I'd stop getting high. Or, you made them think I wanted to."

"I- no, not really, I just - told them you could, you c-could get _better_ , that you wanted to. And... And, and that you, you know, that you care about them. You l-love them?" He was leaning further and further away from his best fake friend, the chair creaking as he gently shivered, anxiety painted plainly on his face; he may not have known Connor, but he could anticipate when he was about to explode.

"W-what the fuck," Connor muttered, careful not to strain his voice, but anguished rage dripped from every syllable regardless, "Who the fuck are _you_? How fucking dare - you had no fucking right, fuck you, fuck that, who the - shit, what the _fuck_?" He laughed, bitter and hoarse and piercing.

Evan was falling apart. "I-I'm sorry, I know, I _know_ , I'm so, s-so sorry, I didn't, don't know what to do -"

"Uh, maybe don't fuck with things that don't concern you? Jesus Christ, you can't - you can't just _do_ that!" His voice was getting louder; so was the beeping of his heart monitor. "Do you have any fucking _clue_ \- you know that's gonna mess them right up, don't you? Now that I'm awake and still the same shitty disappointment I was before, when they've been eating up all the shit you've been serving them?" His grimace was furious and stunned, and it reminded Evan of a fox caught in headlights - threatened, but poised to attack.

"B-but," Evan was looking at his lap, hiding his shameful face as best he could. He couldn't mask the dropping tear as it fell from his cheek. His lips barely seemed to move, and his words were practically inaudible as he mumbled, "I thought, I mean you know, y-you're awake now. A-and now it doesn't, it won't matter - so much - what I said? They'll forget about it, 'cause, b-because they don't need to imagine you now you're actually uh, a-awake. So, so mybe we can just ignore this? A-and they don't have to find out it wasn't true, maybe, I-I can go, I'll go, you'll all forget I was even here. It doesn't... I won't matter." It didn't seem possible for him to make himself appeared any smaller, but somehow he managed to shrink still further into himself.

Connor blinked; his anger cooled momentarily as he processed Evan's excuse: "Wait, _what_?"

"You... I don't know, maybe they don't have to find out." His head was almost in his lap. The guilt was crushing.

Connor laughed again, bark-like and harsh. "Yeah, and maybe we can keep on with this weird little lie of yours, and we can become best friends, and you can keep going with your messed up game of trying to make my parents fall in love with you or trying to bang my sister or something." Maybe it was just the coma, or the increasing sense of claustrophobia closing in on him, but Connor was feeling nauseous just thinking of the sweating, crying kid talking to his parents, sitting by his bed. _Pretending to mourn you while he took over your whole life, hoping you'd never wake up so he could keep it forever. They'd probably actually prefer him to you, even with all the pathological lying. Maybe you should just let him take it, take your whole fucking life, it's not like you want it anyway, let it go, let the creep take it and maybe it will kill him too..._ Connor tried to shake away the self-loathing goblin who lived in his brain. Evidently it, too, had awoken.

Evan's whole body was having convulsions, _as if he's the one with problems_. But he was becoming louder, maybe to meet Connor's volume, maybe to speak above the persistent beeping, or the screeching of his own demons to defend himself, to plead for a single shred of hope, "No, no, that's not - I just, t-the things I said, that's, okay look, please, they want to help you. T-they think, uh, maybe you can be better, they can help you through it? B-because of _what I said_ , y-you have... Another chance. And, and I know you didn't want one, but you have one now, a-and maybe you could use it? T-that's a whole big part of the reason they didn't... Give up." He dared to glance up. Connor was blank as slate. His voice dropped again, ashamed. "I know it's my stupid lie, and you don't owe me anything. B-but it's just, you know, if we tell them, then they'll lose all that hope, a-and they might..."

"Might take away your sick fantasy?"

"Might give up on you, and you'll be alone! _Again_!" Evan was shouting, and he didn't know where it came from amidst the tears and the trembling and the absolute terror of the boy before him, but it tore out of him with more urgency than he'd ever known himself to have. He saw Connor shift subtly backwards, _shit, you yelled at the kid who just came out of a coma. For all you know I might already have been wanting to beat the shit out of you the second I leave hospital, holy shit_. Evan seemed to read Connor's thoughts as clearly as if they were his own. He brought his voice back down to a hushed murmur, humbling himself to plead for mercy. "I don't - I don't want your life, Connor; I, honestly, I wish I'd never gotten involved. But I _am_ now, okay, it's too late to come back from that. I-I can get out of your lives, though - I told them it was a secret friendship, they don't know any different - if, i-if you want, they'll just think, or we can tell them, we're back to just keeping it hidden, a-and they'll still believe the best of you, but you, y-you'll never have to deal with me again. I think... it's the better option."

 _For fucking who?_ Connor was silent, regarding the boy with all the rage he could muster. Eventually, he shattered the fragile silence: "I never asked you to lie for me. I-it it's not, it's not my fault you've fucked over my family. Or that you're too scared to f-face the truth." His heart monitor was beeping faster, wailing, whining for attention, and there was a fire in his brain, behind his eyes, spreading to his throat, "F-fuck you. _Fuck_ you, Evan Hansen, g-get the fuck out of my room. I don't owe you a fff-ucking thing." _You don't know, you don't get to make the choice of whether I get another chance, you can't manipulate my family into believing in me. I_ know _they've given up on me, it's I just - I deserve it. I deserve their hate. I need it. I need them to hate me, or I won't be able to leave._ He was crying; he was crying, and Evan was crying, but Evan was also _seeing_ him cry, and _why the fuck is he still here_ , "Why the fuck are you still here, get out! Are you thick, get out!"

He was screaming and sobbing, and his throat was still scratchy and dry, and he was pretty sure he was shaking, but at least Evan was leaving, _get away from me_ , running away from him, frightened beyond his wits even when Connor wasn't capable of even trying to hurt him, _if I were dead I'd never be able to hurt anyone again,_ and Connor was alone, _alone, alone, alone..._

The machine was screaming, and he was alone, and he was shaking with the force of his racing pulse, and wishing, just that once, he had a person, _any_ person -

Larry burst in, the door slamming back against the wall in his urgency; in Connor's unfocused vision, it was as if he crossed the room in a single leap, launching himself onto his broken child and pulling him roughly into his chest. "Okay, Connor, it's okay, you're okay Buddy, I promise, I'm here, Dad's here, it's alright Connor, I've got you, I've got you."

There were hands rubbing his back and somehow tears seeping into his hair, and he wanted to breathe but somehow even the air wanted to avoid him. But he wasn't alone, and there was the sound of his Dad breathing just above him, and it was about as far from calm as he'd ever heard it but still a hell of a lot steadier than his own, so he focused on that, trying to match its uneven rhythm. For the first time in years he let himself be held, cradled, almost, by his Dad, anchoring to the man until he found his way back to himself again.

He opened his eyes, and Zoe was peering around the doorframe, along with a nurse. He dropped his arms from where he'd wrapped them around his father, but Larry remained holding him for a few seconds longer before he dared to release him. Even then, he didn't go far, barely backing away a few steps to allow the nurse space to check that Connor was doing okay, other than having had his second panic attack within the few hours he'd been awake.

Satisfied, she insisted, "You should try to rest, Connor. No more stress, alright, you've been through enough. I can give you something to help you get to sleep, if you want, or -"

"No, thank you," Larry softly replied, "I think we'll be okay. Sorry, if," he looked back at his son, checking for Connor's consent before he dismissed her entirely, "You're alright with that?"

Connor nodded, barely. The nurse retreated, and Connor took a moment to consider what had just happened: Larry had offered him a choice. It wasn't anything huge, maybe it was just a fluke, but even if it was, that didn't change the fact that he couldn't recall the last time he'd been trusted enough to have a say in anything.

 _They might give up on you, and you'll be alone. Again._ He didn't want to care about that. He hadn't wanted validation from his family for years, and he really didn't mean to start now. But Evan had done _something_ , and now he was being asked if he was okay with something, and it shouldn't have mattered so much to him, but it _did_ , it really did.

Larry was talking, Zoe was inching into the room, but Connor had another priority. "Can I have your phone?" Larry paused, perplexed. "I need to call Evan." _I'm assuming Dad has his number - he has everyone's number._

The lawyer seemed uncertain, but reluctantly complied, unlocking and handing him the device. "No yelling, okay," he reminded him unnecessarily of the very thing the nurse had just told them and, when Connor made no move to dial, left the room, herding Zoe out to give him a moment of privacy.

Connor scrolled through the list of contacts until he reached _Evan Hansen_. He pressed green, and the dialling tone began. And proceeded to continue for so long he was sure it was going to go ignored. He was about to cut it off when the faint chiming was replaced with breathy silence.

"M-Mr Murphy?"

"Nope." _Or yes, technically. But no._

"... Connor?" Evan's uncertainty echoed down the line.

 _Well fucking done_. Connor didn't have the time or energy for platitudes or formalities. Instead, he braced himself to cut straight to the matter at hand. "Just thinking. It-it doesn't matter, does it, not really. Like, what people think happened in the past? It's over no matter what, isn't it. So yeah, fine. Ha. Would you believe me if I told you - no, you're the worst person to ask about believing, just... I don't - I don't fucking c-care. Y-you can, you know, what you said. Disappear. I won't tell - for _me,_ not you, _you_ can go fuck yourself. So it all goes away, whatever. But you have to leave us alone."

He could almost hear Evan's mind wipe blank with disbelief. "W-what?"

"I'll keep your secret, lie, whatever you're calling it, I'll pretend what you said was all true," he muttered, relieved at least for the small mercy that, this being a phone conversation, the other boy couldn't see the tears he had yet to wipe away; the pain was palpable in his voice even so. "Just let us forget about you."

"Connor -"

"I said, d-didn't I, I'm gonna go along with it and you can keep your fucking f-fantasy, be happy with that. Just stay the fuck away from me. You're sick." He cut the call without waiting for a despairing reply, and tossed the phone onto the table. Underneath him, the bed seemed to rock, like he'd been at sea and had yet to adjust to solid ground.

Maybe he was no longer submerged, but with the reluctant agreement he'd just made weighing on his lungs, he still felt he was inches away from drowning. He was eight years old and wading fully-clothed in the creek, water lapping at his nose, struggling to find the broken remnants of the life he'd tried to end, empty of everything but the conviction he should have dunked his head under when he had the chance.

* * *

 **A/N:** **YIKES!**

 **Sorry Im sorry, Connor is so freaking sad it breaks my heart. Also he doesn't like Evan's music, "What the fuck is this beep-boop shit" was the first line I knew I wanted to feature when I started planning this story, and even thought I have tamed it a little I'm just glad it's here (I like the new line better, I just see him as utterly bewildered). Censorship brings me to my next point: he swears a lot here but in my heart he only swears when he's feeling uncomfortable or threatened so there will be less of that in good time.**  
 **Evan and Zoe are sad and clumsy kissers in this story because although they're learning to love each other, it's not going to be a romantic kind of love. They're just not meant to be this time around, sorry kids.**  
 **Im sorry Connor is so angry, but I think it's important for him to be like that at this point. he's gonna be prickly for a little while yet. But we got to see a little of his interaction with his parents, which I hope came across as more dry sarcasm then all-out rage. (also Larry hugged him because although Larry is a bad dad he has aspirations to be a good dad. Suck it, Larry-haters, I am here to PROTECT AND DEFEND)**  
 **We'll see some more of the family dynamic (INCLUDING MY BEST GIRL ZOE) in the next chapter, plus some despairing Evan (Poor baby, what's new.)**  
 **Lol idk my loves Im just excited we're finally at this point. IT'S BEEN A LONG TIME COMING BUT CONNOR'S AWAKE AND WE'RE GETTING GOING NOW!**  
 **okey doke, let's leave it there because Im rambling (okay thats not because of the story thats because Im seeing Hamilton in 26 days and I cant contain it) okay bye for now, thanks so much for reading (Im so sorry about this note) and I hope you let me know what you think and also come back for the next round**!


	14. Chapter 14

**A/N: Hiiiii! it's update time!** **This chapter was only meant to be half of a whole chapter but when I was editing it I realised the whole thing was like 12000 words and that was just TOO LONG and in my plan it used to be two chapters anyway and I think there's enough here to make up a whole chapter so I cut the whole second half of it and that's gonna be the next chapter.**

 **The usual triggers, mentions of suicide but not actually too many suicidal thoughts in this one (I told you it's looking up).**

 **ONWARDS!**

* * *

 **These Broken Parts - Chapter 14**

It was a Friday when Evan's life with the Murphys began to crumble, but it's a Monday when his home life falls apart.

Heidi got the call in the afternoon, just as she was getting into her car; on her early shifts, she usually managed to get home just after her son got back from school, and if she was lucky he'd still be downstairs. On those days they tended to sit on the couch together and channel-hop, finding the last twenty minutes of a quiz show to watch, and laugh at whatever wildly wrong answers they could come up with, in that precious time before Evan retreated to his bedroom.

Instead, the usual routine was dashed just as she was clipping in her seatbelt. Her mobile buzzed in her pocket, the school's number flashing on the screen when she dug it out. Instantly, dread manifested, cool and dry, on the back of her tongue: she wasn't on the PTA, or part of the carpool scheme, so the only calls she got from them were to tell her that Evan was having some kind of problem and needed collecting. Swallowing, she answered, "Hello?"

"Hi, Mrs Hansen? I'm calling on behalf of the attendance admin team of Ellison State High, to check in on the situation with your son."

"What situation?" She asked slowly, perplexed - _maybe Evan had to leave early or something? He didn't try to call, and it's not really anything new anyway, but what else could be considered a_ situation _? Other than his anxiety, but they already know all about that. They can't expel him for having anxiety, can they? No, that's ridiculous. And I'm catastrophising, stop that._ "I don't - is there a problem?"

"Not a _problem_ , exactly - we were happy to see Evan spending a lot more time at school over this last week, we know his timetable has been pretty disrupted lately, and we understand it's a difficult time. But we heard from the Murphys that Connor has woken up now, so can we expect your son to be returning to school full time?"

The cogs clacked in her mind, and her tense face grew tenser as she struggled to make head or tails of it. "Sorry, what?"

"Of course we recognise things have been hard for Evan, the school has been very lenient these past few weeks, Mrs Hansen," she continued to explain without really explaining, "We've tried to be understanding, we allowed him considerable flexibility while Connor's condition was still uncertain, as per his parents' wishes; but Evan's a senior, and he's already missed the first few weeks. Now Connor's on the way to recovery we're very conscious that your son ought not to miss much more of his education." She waited, expectant of either avid defence or fervent apologies. Heidi, however, was too stunned to say a word. The receptionist awkwardly prompted, "So, Evan will be in school for the foreseeable?"

"Oh. Well yeah, yes, sure, yes." The inherent need to please took over as the rest of her brain shut down, preoccupied with wondering exactly what her kid was getting up to. "I'll - I guess I'll talk to him about it. Yeah. Uh, thanks."

She cut the call, tossed her cell onto the other seat, and shoved her keys into the ignition in one cathartic motion, ignoring the intrigued eyes of her colleagues as they saw her pull viciously out of the parking lot. She didn't bother putting in a CD to brighten her mood - for once, she wanted to preserve some of her work-stress for when she confronted her son.

She mulled over the conversation as she drove, piecing it together with the e-mails the school had been sending out these past few weeks - a boy named Connor Murphy had been involved in some kind of accident at the start of term, they'd been asked to make sure their kids were coping. There was an assembly that parents had been invited to, but she was working, and Evan didn't even mention it so she guessed it wasn't important. But the school had let Evan stay off as long as he wanted while the other kid's condition wasn't stable because Connor's parents had insisted. Meanwhile _she'd_ had no clue that anything at all was wrong.

He was lying to her, that alone was certain. Even though she tried to mask it when she first walked into the living room, she felt betrayal sparking off of her like lightning. Evan was already there, and there were two steaming coffees on the table - _the result of a guilty conscience, maybe? No,_ no, she had to give him more credit than that; he was a good kid, she just didn't understand what had been going on.

"Hey, I made you - uh, h-how was work?" He was fidgeting, picking at the edge of his cast, but he was trying to smile, trying to engage... Heidi had read countless articles about parenting an anxious teenager, she knew all about encouraging them when they make an effort rather than finding something to criticize. That knowledge made her hate herself just a little bit for not being able to let it go.

She sat beside him, and drank. It burned the roof of her mouth, but she needed to stall for a moment to think about how best to broach the subject. The edge to her words was carefully measured, "It was fine thanks, honey. How's... how has school been going?"

He averted his eyes, and took a scalding gulp from his own cup, and if Heidi wasn't so infuriated by him lying to her, she would have laughed out loud at how the both of them used the same painful tactic to win more time.

"It's fine. Things are fine."

"I heard the workload might go up a bit now you're a senior," she pushed, "Have you been finding that so far?"

"No - no, I mean no-not really, not yet, uh, I guess it might do."

"Yeah." She took another bracing sip. "You might need to actually show up for class if you really want to get the measure of how much work is being set, though, Evan." Instantly, his face snapped up, bewildered, and before he could defend himself, she pounced, snaring him in the trap, "I got a call from the school, they told me you've been out of class a lot lately. Which is weird, considering you never asked me to call in. They said it had something to do with that Murphy boy, the one you told me you barely knew? So, you know, I'm a _little_ bit confused here, Evan, because I didn't know you even _spoke_ to him, and I definitely didn't think you'd start skipping school when you know how important this final year is." Her throat felt tight, but she couldn't distinguish where anger ended and hurt began.

"I-I, I didn't, I-I just..." He blinked hard, his face rapidly growing red, back curling slowly into the arm of the sofa. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't have - sorry."

He gave in too quickly. Not that he was usually argumentative, but it was too empty and dejected for her to be anywhere near satisfied with his response. "And that's it?" She challenged, trying to be stern even though her own sense of betrayal was making her chin quiver. "No, no explanation, no excuse, nothing?"

"There's..." He couldn't look at her. Even if he had, it wouldn't have been his Mom that he saw, but Connor Murphy, pale and trembling and demanding _What the fuck did you do?_ "N-no excuse. I'm sorry."

There was no defence there, like he _knew_ he'd let her down and done something terrible, and the regret was too heavy a burden on his soul for him to even think of trying to justify it. And he was always fairly compliant, but he wouldn't just give in like he was helpless to do anything but be drowned in criticism usually, not with 's heart softened a little at the edges, his hopeless dejection awakening the maternal urge to wrap him in her arms until everything that could possibly upset him went away. But he flinched away when she simply shifted in her seat, so that was off the table. She sighed, dropping her interrogational tactic almost as easily as he'd abandoned any hope of making excuses. "Come on, I don't even really know what you're sorry _for_. _Speak_ to me, honey, please. What's the matter?"

He shrugged, shrinking further from her, and internally Heidi criticized herself for ruining one of the few occasions she sometimes got to see her son relax with these questions; he was holding it together, but she could tell it was agonizing for him to try to explain: "I mean, it's - y-you know, right, about Connor and his suicide attempt? It's, he's, he was in a coma. And, and his family, they wanted me there, because, b-because they thi-found that I'm, like, h-his friend? A-and I never told you that, because it was a private thing just between us - not like _that_ ," he hastened to add, when his Mom raised an eyebrow. "But, yeah, and then I didn't want you to worry, about him being in hospital or about me missing school, so I didn't say. The school gave permission, anyway, Mr and Mrs Murphy made sure they'd allow it. It's not - it wasn't a big deal. And it's over now anyway."

 _Not a big deal?_ An unexpected tug of sorrow pulled at Heidi's heart, at how easily her boy could dismiss this. _He never told me he had a friend. He didn't tell me he was going through something that difficult. He didn't even ask me about taking time off, he just let another kid's parents give him permission. And it's no big deal._ Her voice faltered, "E-Evan -"

"- I'm sorry, Mom, I know it was stupid." He was tense, like a coiled spring, ready to bounce away the instant he thought he might be released. He still looked like he wanted to cry, scarcely holding it together to ask, "Can I go?"

"Listen," she tried again, realising too late that her accusatory start had already pushed him away beyond recovery. "I'm not mad at you, I just - is something wrong? Honey, you don't seem -"

"Nothing's wrong!" He insisted, jumping unsteadily to his feet. Heidi looked scared, and he forced himself to calm down. Trying to breathe despite the weight on his chest, he mumbled, "He's awake now, that's all that matters. I'll-I'll go back to school. It's- everything's fine." Heidi still looked dubious. Screw that, she looked heartbroken, and Evan wasn't anywhere near stable enough to try and pretend she had no reason to be. Openly desperate, he pleaded "Can I - I have homework, can I go upstairs?"

"But -" _But we like to hang out a little when I get home from work at this time, don't we, have a laugh at the TV? It's been a while since I was on this shift pattern, we've not had a chance to really chat for ages - no, he's busy. And maybe he's got some stuff going on at the moment that's a bit more urgent than hanging with his Mom._ She smiled, as if making her face pretend to be happy could chase away her disappointment. "Sure, Honey." He made straight for the door. "I wish you'd told me." It escaped her before she could filter it out, and Evan froze, rooted to the spot. "It's nice you have a friend - even if it is a private arrangement." _Is that what the kids do nowadays? Or is it just because he didn't want me to know?_ She cringed away from the answer whispered by her insecurities. "Hey. I wouldn't have stopped you. If you'd asked."

"Thanks." Evan rocked on his feet, checking his Mom was finished, and continued to his bedroom, leaving Heidi behind to channel-hop alone, and to discover that quiz shows weren't fun at all without her usual player two.

* * *

One thing Connor quickly learned was that being awake in a hospital was infinitely more demoralizing than being unconscious in one.

Reintroducing him to the abomination that constituted solid food in the hospital was enough to make him beg for them to continue pumping him with nutrients until he was well enough to leave. But the nurses didn't want to take him seriously, and the morning after the tubes came out he was choking down the bland cafeteria cereal, thankful for the smallest mercy that at least he could drown it in real milk rather than the substitutes his Mom had obsessed over trying lately. ("It's okay, baby, when you get home I'll make you whatever you want, it doesn't even have to be vegan - unless you want it to be, I know you liked the almond milk.")

For a few hours he could believe the food would be the worst thing, until it was surpassed when a doctor tested his mobility and came to the conclusion that since he could walk without too much difficulty, he could also use an actual toilet. And it wasn't so much that he had to walk the length of the hallway barefoot to do so (though his feet were freezing and he could _not_ allow himself to think about all the fluids that find themselves on hospital floors and give them that slightly sticky feel), but the removal of the catheter that really made his stomach turn, enough that he went on hunger strike for the rest of that day.

Yet beyond the medical stuff, there was the struggle with his family and everything that came along with them. Larry was softer, gentler with him, after Connor's moment of ultimate weakness on that first day. Over the time he remained in hospital, the lawyer refused to take a hint from Connor's otherwise impassive silence that he didn't _want_ to listen to his corny jokes; evidently it had been decided that they'd reached a turning point, and in a way they _had_ , except for Connor it was more a case of having reached that point and peeked around the corner, he decided that continuing down the path wasn't something he was willing to do if it involved getting closer to the man who hadn't ever known how to be there for him.

As per his prediction, Cynthia utterly smothered him, hating to leave the hospital for anything other than to apparently prepare for his homecoming. Even when he asked her nicely, even when he told her to piss off, even when he flinched away from her mothering touch and closed in on himself like a caged animal. At least rules on visiting hours were actually implemented for conscious patients.

And there was therapy, compulsory anyway for suicidal minors, but his parents had insisted on an hour long session for every day he was there, just to be sure he knew they knew just how messed up he was. Or something like that. It wasn't terrible, only because he didn't really buy in to it - he'd learned long ago the kind of thing it's acceptable to say to a therapist and the kind of thing that warrants them having _"a little word"_ with your parents while you go get a treat from the vending machine just outside. Besides, Daniel _"call me Dan"_ Cameron, the hospital youth therapist, was _not_ the kind of person he would ever consider actually trying to open up to: not only was he the typical middle-aged, middle-class prick, but he also wore a wooden bowtie. It actually irritated Connor so much he wanted to reach across the desk and yank it off every time he looked at it, but he got the idea that would land him back in some mental health facility. So he nodded along and dropped the occasional bit of vague information here and there, and stared into his lap rather than at the dreaded bowtie, because if he wasn't dead then he at least wanted to be back in his own bedroom, and he couldn't be in his own bedroom if he was throttling therapists or being kept under suicide watch in the hospital.

There was Zoe, too. He hadn't really anticipated her being an issue until she came in on her own on the Wednesday afternoon, at a loose end since her classes were cancelled last-minute.

"Hi." She stood just inside the doorway, bashful and out of place with her purple sneakers and floral shirt amidst all the mechanical drabness. (The balloons made him feel claustrophobic, drifting around like that, so Cynthia had donated them to the other rooms in the corridor. The flowers had been confined to one corner, and were slowly dying, their heads bowing and browning. It looked like a peaceful way to go.)

She looked like she didn't know what she was doing there. Well, he couldn't help her there - he didn't have the faintest clue himself.

"Hi."

"How's... It going?" The reluctant words stuck to the roof of her mouth.

Strangely enough, seeing her discomfort made Connor feel a little better about his own social ineptitude. _Look at that - even the perfect one can't be good at everything_. Embittered, he said, "Fine."

" _Fine_?" Strange, how just a single word could hold so much criticism when it was spat out in just the right way. She was lucky Cynthia had taken a break, because otherwise she would have been ushered out at once.

Connor grimaced. "It's - yeah. Shit, what's wrong with _fine_? I don't know what you want me to tell you." She swung one foot back and forth, planting it closer to the door every time it scuffed the floor. _She wants to leave. I want her to leave. She should leave, except if I tell her to leave then she'll tell Mom and Dad and they'll tell the doctors I'm shutting out my family and they'll tell me I can't go home until I'm ready to accept their support._ Reaching for something, he forced the admission, "I had another therapy session."

That did the trick. Zoe strode forward, plonking herself down onto the nearest chair, apparently oblivious to how her backpack rustled when she crushed it into the seat with her bodyweight. Well that was new, they were sitting together, maybe with the aim of _talking_ together - sort of. It was stunted and transparent and tinged with just a dash of longing to be literally anywhere else from both sides, but it was _New_.

"And?"

"It was crap."

"Bummer." She looked like she might smile for a second, but then remembered that it probably wasn't a joke. Instead, she reached around and pulled her backpack into her lap, yanking out a couple of squished, brown paper packages that smelt so good he didn't dare get his hopes up until she passed him one. "I went to Subway. I don't know if you already ate, but Dad said you hate the hospital food, so..."

"That's true." He took it, perplexed but nonetheless urgent, seizing it before she changed her mind. It faintly occurred to him that Zoe would have no idea what his typical order was, as usually he only went to the gas station Subway when he was high, but really it didn't matter; she could have left it empty and the bread alone would have been better than anything that came out of the hospital canteen. He unwrapped it - _meatball marinara with salad, toasted. Okay -_ "... Thanks."

They ate in silence. He hoped she didn't think too much of the way he folded up the large wrapper to kind of create a wall that hid his mouth from her while he ate - one of the very few things he'd learned from Bowtie Daniel was that his general dislike of eating in front of other people might be a symptom of social anxiety, and he didn't dare admit it in the therapy session but the moment it had been said, that condition just seemed to _fit_. That was something he didn't want his family to think too hard about, though, because then they might try to get it officially diagnosed, and then they might add it to the list of his problems, another thing for them to monitor and fret over and completely miss the mark on. But he couldn't help how over-aware he was of it as he ate in company.

Connor finished first, and lobbed the greasy paper into the bin. He pretended not to notice how Zoe winced as he raised his arm to throw. _She has every right to be afraid of me,_ he reminded himself, trying to remember he had to stay calm if he wanted to be back in his own bedroom any time soon. The intrusive voice in his head took it as an invitation to remind him, _Of all of them, she's the one who'd definitely be better off if you were gone. Irrelevant, I already know that._

He wondered vaguely if she'd enjoyed the freedom of existing without him being around. _Probably wishes I'd just got it right on the first try, then she wouldn't have to waste her time with this pity-visit._ She didn't seem that cut-up about what he tried to do. She didn't really seem to be feeling an awful lot of _anything_ , not even resentment, which he was convinced she usually saved up just for him. She was blank; it clung to the shadows under her eyes and the creases at the ends of her narrowed lips. It looked weird on her. Half-curious, he asked, "How was school?"

"Fine. The same, I guess, it's kinda getting back to normal now, since the Connor Project started, and because everyone knows you're not dying." If she saw her brother's eyes widen, she refused to let it impede on her passive-aggression. "I mean my classes were cancelled this afternoon because Miss Martinez was sick, but that's not really weird in the same way that everyone asking you if it's true your brother topped himself is weird." She was growing increasingly animated, a harsh, high shake to her words, "These people I literally didn't know wouldn't leave me alone, because of course everybody wanted to know all about you. And they wanted to know whose fault it was." She took another vicious bite, and remarked through it, "All that really sucked, by the way." There it was, an edge of blame, not quite sharp enough to cut him, but hard enough that he felt it digging in.

 _So_ not _a sympathy visit, then_. Dryly, he replied, "Sorry for the inconvenience."

"I'm sure." If they had been closer, that might have have come across as playful, but it was mostly just sarcastic. Connor liked her better that way - she was much easier to deal with when she was compartmentalizing all of her positive emotions to scorn him. He snorted, the half-laughter catching her off guard. She tried to smile, couldn't, looked away.

He sighed, all traces of amusement dissolving. _She's miserable here. She hates being around me, it's been less than twenty minutes and she's wishing we were a million worlds apart. She knows it, and I know it, and she knows I know it_. Tired of whatever game they were pretending to play, he tried to seem as non-confrontational as possible as he suggested, "You don't need to stay, if you have other stuff to do. I know Mom would happily have me watched for every second, but I don't need that."

Dismally, "Yeah. Yeah, no, of course." She'd just finished her lunch, and was scrunching the wrapper up into a greasy paper ball. "I do, I have stuff, I just thought you might want -" she hesitated a fraction of a second too long, before convincingly finishing, "- some real food. And that's done now, so." She shrugged, stuffing her bag closed again with forced nonchalance; disappointment was painted boldly across her creased brow, given up hiding now she wasn't going to be around Connor. Rising from her seat, she donned her backpack and made to leave. Cast a glance back towards her brother, "See you 'round."

* * *

 _I thought you might want to_ talk _, you know, because I know you can't have been talking to that therapist - obviously, he had a wooden bowtie, what kind of idiot voluntarily does that to themselves - and, I just thought, we've not really been close, and I thought maybe you might want to be. That's a lie, Evan told me you said you did, and I wouldn't have guessed it but, hey, I wouldn't have guessed you would be passed out on your bedroom floor when I went to bring you downstairs that night, so maybe my intuition's not really that great, ha! Oh my god. Okay maybe that would have been too morbid. Or I don't know, is he into dark humour?_ Zoe tucked a strand of hair behind her ear with more aggression than a misplaced hair could ever truly deserve, frustrated as she debated time after time what she could have done better during her first real conversation with Connor. She'd been mulling it over for an entire day, and made precisely zero progress, other than coming to the realization that saying _something_ would have been better than leaving altogether.

It wasn't even like she'd been a million miles away from trying to persevere with it. She'd had a bunch of conversation starters all laid out in her mind, from small-talk to real-talk, it's just that when he'd asked about school, she _had_ to let him know how his attempt had taken over even that aspect of her life. And she knew she couldn't _blame_ him, because there was no way he thought about her enough in the process of planning his death to intentionally use it as a way to ruin her life, but it _had_ , damn it, for the time being, and she wasn't Cynthia, she couldn't just pretend like the way he chose to spend his life hadn't had a knock-on effect on how she got to live hers.

So maybe she wanted to give him another chance. But that could only be if he was actually going to acknowledge how shitty he'd been to her over the years, all the grief he'd caused her, otherwise she couldn't bring herself to move on.

That was why she'd left so easily, perhaps; she was trying, he was infuriating, and when she'd told him about school, he just didn't care.

It wasn't exactly a positive sign, but Zoe Murphy was a perpetual optimist at heart. And if there was a chance for her faith to be restored, she was sure she was coming to the right place. Metaphorically, anyway; more accurately, she was sure she was aiming for the right _person_ , but the address was one her Mom found online and she wasn't exactly sure how accurate it would be.

Still, when she stood at the top of the driveway she thought belonged to the right house, she could imagine Evan living there - a small, modest house, peeling paint on the blue door and a little red car with a dent in the bumper sitting in front of it. It gave the impression of being cosy in the right way, snug and much less artificial than her own home.

Zoe swallowed the prospect of failure; she could stomach it. The girl traipsed down the driveway and rapped on the door. After a few moments, a middle-aged blonde woman opened up, a surprised half-smile already on her round face.

"Hi, I'm Zoe," she readily matched the warm expression, "Does Evan live here?"

"I think so, mostly. Unless there's something he's not telling me," the woman chuckled at her own joke. Zoe would have joined in, but it stopped suddenly, like the woman had just remembered something bleak. It seemed to catch both of them off-guard, and the teenager's feet shuffled backwards. "You need him?" Zoe nodded, and Evan's mom turned, calling over her shoulder, "Evan, come down, Zoe's here to see you." She grinned at the girl, forcefully banishing whatever doubt had momentarily struck her, and invited, "Do you wanna come in?"

"Oh, no, I just wanted to ask Evan something quick. My parents need me home afterwards." She hesitated, kicking one foot back and forth. Evan's mom. She could tell her, surely, it wasn't like she was another over-excited teenager ready to bawl the second his name was mentioned. "Connor's coming home tomorrow, so there's just a lot to do."

The woman's face fell once more, and she checked, "Connor, Evan's _friend_ Connor?"

"Yeah, I'm his sister -"

"Zoe." Evan had appeared beyond his Mom, staring at his guest like he'd seen a ghost. Maybe Zoe was exactly that - the ghost of what could have been. Nevertheless, he cleared his throat, murmured, "Mom," with a purposeful raise of his eyebrows, and drew closer.

"I'll leave you to it, then," she responded, less successful at reassembling some of her cheeriness this time. _So Connor's been causing problems even in Evan's home life. It's almost impressive how far it reaches._ "It was nice to meet you, Zoe. Heidi, by the way."

She waited for the woman to disappear from sight before she actually brought herself to look at Evan; she'd not seen him around at school - or rather, she'd spotted him, but hadn't had a chance to actually _speak_ to him, and she had a feeling he was trying to avoid her. It was basically confirmed by his shocked expression. Maybe she shouldn't have dragged him into a closet to make out, maybe he was the kind of person who would have been rightfully freaked out by that. But some of the stories she'd told him were infinitely more intimate than anything they could have done in the storage closet, and they'd both been in a strange frame of mind that day, and she was hoping harder than she'd like to admit that their rashness wasn't going to ruin the friendship she'd felt blooming between them. She smiled, hoping her own anxiety wasn't shining through. "Hey. What's up?"

"Uh, n-nothing." He chuckled, painfully awkward, knuckles scraping the sides of his shirt. "Shouldn't I be asking that? I-I mean, because you're the one who showed up at my house, and everything."

"True," she smirked, relaxing into the dynamic between them. This was familiar, comfortable, even; she could appreciate that a lot more now her home life wasn't on the brink of imminent collapse. "Mom sent me here, we wanted to invite you for dinner at ours tomorrow. She said she couldn't get hold of you..."

"Oh." His gaze dropped, and his fingers reached for the hem of his shirt. "Y-yeah, my phone, it's gone weird... sorry."

"No worries." She tried not to overthink his sudden, heightened discomfort. Pressing him, she urged, "So, can you come? It's just, Connor's getting out of the hospital, and I think she and Dad really want you there - you know, so he feels all _fully supported_." She pulled a face, exasperated as ever by her parents, yet somehow more understanding than she had been the last time she'd vented to Evan.

He smirked, but it swiftly withdrew, "Ah, that's nice, but I-I don't think - no, I don't, don't want to intrude. I think that's, uh, not a good idea." He was fidgeting, rubbing the fabric of his shirt hard between his finger and thumb.

Cocking her head, she asked, "Why not?"

"Oh, it's nothing, it's just that that's a family thing, a-and Connor and me, we're not - we're going back to just, uh, hiding it. The whole friendship, it's just... hidden. Private. So, so I don't think, I think he'd probably be really weirded out to see me sitting - haaaaa - sitting at his dining table." Judging by the noise he made, that was his pitiful attempt to be breezy. But if his grimace hadn't been enough of a giveaway, she could see the perspiration forming on his brow.

"Evan." Her face fell, taken over and pulled down with a new gravity. "You don't have to avoid me. I know things got a little funky the other day, but it doesn't have to make things weird. I just - I like, I think you're cool. And I don't want you to feel at freaked out by what happened, or like you have to hide from me, okay? You're... nice." _Friendly_. _Sweet. I think you'll blush if I tell you you're sweet, I'll spare you that._

For someone delivering a compliment, she looked thoroughly disheartened, and it plucked at the other boy's taught heartstrings. "N-no, it's not you -"

"But it _is_ , though, isn't it; You're Connor's friend. And I don't think I'd have gotten through the past few weeks without being able to just totally rant to you, so I think that makes you _my_ friend, too, and you should be there." Amidst her plaintive sincerity, a dash of amusement urged her to insist, "I swear, I'm not gonna survive dinner if you're not there to make sure my parents don't go literally crazy! Come on, they won't get weird if there's a guest."

 _They're probably just glad things are getting back to normal,_ he didn't add. Instead he smiled as best he could when his heart was skipping, _she called me her friend. I'm friends with Zoe Murphy and it wasn't even me who decided_. She was different, lighter, now. The embodiment of all the sweet, glowing brightness he'd ever dreamed would make up Zoe Murphy, only now she was also shaded in with areas of depth, more three-dimensional and tangible than she'd ever been, and he was helpless. It was all he could do to limit himself to a shrug and the assurance, "I'll have to ask my Mom. But I'll try, if you want me there."

Zoe grinned, beaming brighter than the rays of the setting September sun. "I really do."

* * *

 **A/N: Sooo that's that? Evan is king of bad decisions, helpless to refuse his** **new friend** **Zoe. Who thinks Evan's** **cool** **and wants to be his** **friend** **. They're gonna be** **buds** **. I like that idea.**

 **Connor doesn't like wooden bowties but he does like fast food. Side note, I've only had subway twice in my life and I don't really know the fillings. Also I don't really have anything against bowties.**

 **That's all I have to say, just thanks for reading. Feedback is always appreciated if you have a moment.**


	15. Chapter 15

**A/N:** **Hi! Wow, it's been a little while!**

 **I've been a little caught up in other writing projects and a lot caught up in revision. Exams are in like 3 weeks so the next chapter will probably also be pretty slow, but I'll see what I can do.**

 **Just to refresh: Connor went into a coma from which he has now awoken, to discover Evan told a huge lie about him and set up the Connor Project. Now he and his family are adjusting, Evan is trying to go back to normal, and the two boys want nothing to do with each other, but Connor is about to leave hospital and Evan has been invited to his homecoming dinner.**

 **This chapter is kinda tame by comparison. I also took absolute delight in trying to make Connor as self-depreciating, dry-humoured, defensive, and sarcastic as I could possibly manage. Enjoy xx**

* * *

 **These Broken Parts - Chaper 15**

It was cold, and his sweater didn't keep out the piercing bite of the wind as Connor stepped out of the hospital and into the parking lot. His Mom was still somewhere inside, probably saying goodbye for the thousandth time to yet another doctor. The amount of cake she'd baked in preparation for what she hoped was their final departure from that place for a long time was actually incomprehensible, and he'd been informed that there was more waiting for him at home - his favourite flavour, apparently, double chocolate fudge, but he wasn't totally convinced that wasn't _everyone's_ favourite type of cake, so maybe that didn't count for much. Either way, the slice in his hand was sticky and dark and sweet, and really he couldn't ask for more.

Larry was just in front of him, leading the way towards his car with a plastic bag in each hand, and Connor wondered not for the first time how it came to be that they'd accumulated so many things in a place where his parents hadn't technically been meant to stay. It wasn't even his stuff (though technically the cards _were_ for him, regardless of if he felt utterly disconnected from the messages inside). It was mostly changes of clothes and inflatable pillows, but by the looks of his weighted Father, they might as well be on their way back from a mini break.

"All these bags, huh," Larry began, glancing hopefully towards the boy who could scarcely look at him, let alone engage, since he'd clung to him so fiercely a lifetime ago, when he couldn't breathe for fear of being alive. "I guess this is what it'll be like when we pack you off to college." He grinned, tersely, hoping for some indication that his son had heard. He opened the trunk and stored the carriers, "Connor. You know, the moving and everything, when you get a little older -"

He took a spiteful bite of cake and chewed, mumbling through the crumbs, "I'm not doing that."

"Ah. O-kay," Larry's face fell, doubt creeping into his expression as he wondered what part Connor was refusing - the going to college, or the getting older. Tentatively optimistic, he suggested, "No college right now, then, that's okay. You could, I don't know, you could travel, see some of the world first, or do an internship with me maybe, I'd give you a great reference, or heck, just get straight into working and building up that life experience..."

"Mmm." _I think I've experienced enough life for the time being, thanks,_ he longed to mumble. Instead, he shrugged and threw himself into the car, slamming the door shut on Larry's attempt to find common ground, and pulling at the seatbelt with sticky fingers; eating was never allowed in his Dad's car - it was a symbol, he said, _and symbols have to be pristine or there's no point in having them_. But Connor would've liked to see him try to challenge him over the wedge of cake - cake he'd accepted solely so that he could push at the boundaries of what his parents generally deemed acceptable, curious to see where they reached their limit and pinged back into place.

Maybe they were closer to breaking point than he'd thought: Larry waited outside the car, leaning on the driver's side, until his wife finally emerged from the revolving door and took her own seat, like he was intentionally avoiding another circumstance where he'd feel obliged to make a go of small-talk.

Cynthia, on the other hand, exuded boundless satisfaction, announcing herself with a contented sigh and the announcement, "They were very thankful for the cake, and Serena and Marcus said to let you know they'll be thinking of you."

Serena and Marcus, the nurses who'd been his most frequent carers, (And coincidentally also the ones responsible for showing him the video currently blowing up the internet, the one where Evan Hansen cried and his life got reduced to a fairytale) although that hadn't at all limited his Mom's efforts to befriend the entire department. She was on first-name terms with almost every nurse that had ever walked past his room, and from the way he'd seen her insist they dropped in for a coffee if ever they were passing by the house, you'd never have guessed the hospital would have happily bled them for several hundred thousand dollars if he'd been uninsured. Or that they'd taken not too much less than that, even with the family insurance policy. Unenthusiastically, _"Great."_

He didn't miss the anxious glances exchanged across the rear view mirror, nor the way they flitted over him before fixing firmly forward. Larry allowed himself to become preoccupied with driving them home, while Cynthia chattered away to herself, just a _little_ too bubbly to be genuine. Her son took care to drown her out, in the way you ignore the noise of a shower as the water washes over you.

And then they were back at the house, and it loomed as white and silent as ever, a perfect copy of every other matching doll's house lining the street. Cynthia fumbled with the lock, Larry fetched the bags, and then they were inside, home at last, only Connor had always struggled to find the heartbeat that could truly make it into anything more than than a house, and with his head freshly purified with the drugs and the counselling, the faintly thrumming pulse seemed to have vanished altogether.

Never before had he felt such a stranger in his own house - and that was saying something, since he was more than familiar with the sensation of being unwelcome there - so he made his way to the lounge, rather than upstairs, because you don't just go straight upstairs without being invited when you're a stranger in someone else's place. He sat folded up in the corner of the couch, staring blankly at the T.V. screen as grainy sitcom reruns with their metallic canned laughter played on loop, accepting the juice and the extra slice of cake his Mom gave him, allowing the whole sensation of being _Back_ sink in and absorb him.

Three hours later, and the very first time that both of his parents were out of the room, Connor took his shot and slipped out, escaping without interrogation and rushing upstairs, supposedly to his sole sanctuary. Except _obviously_ he wasn't even allowed to have that, any more, because _evidently_ he'd broken the last ounce of trust his parents had ever had in him, and that had _presumably_ rendered him undeserving of basic human privacy: the hinges were still there, but his bedroom door was gone, leaving an empty frame which set his bedroom in plain view of anyone passing by.

He'd loved the Zoo, when he was younger, until he noticed how sad the tiger looked one day. It couldn't be nice, he'd realized, being trapped while people got to stare at you all day. He'd drawn up a plan for how to rescue the tiger, from how he'd pick the lock to the cage to where he'd hide it once it was free. Now, he was wondering if he still had it tucked away somewhere, if it could be adapted to bust him out of his own cage.

He stepped inside, swinging at empty air beside him out of habit, despising the absence of a clunk behind him as he did so. It shouldn't have been a surprise, he supposed, he'd seen how paranoid his parents had become, it was no wonder they wanted to guarantee they'd be able to keep an eye on him. It was still infuriating, though, the paranoia that he was bound to feel, that he was _already_ experiencing, the prickling unease across his hunched shoulders brought about by the mere thought of having to lay in that room completely unguarded from the rest of the world. Nevertheless, he wasn't exactly short of distractions from that one palpable change: there was a new rug beside his bed, the lock on his en-suite had been removed, his systematic piles of dirty and clean clothes had been put somewhere else, and _Jesus Christ you can't be serious_ , there were flowers on his windowsill, his bong holding them like some misshapen vase. A grin manifested on his face - for all that it annoyed him that other people had clearly been touching his stuff, he had to give Cynthia a ten for creativity.

It was still his bedroom, changes and all, and it wasn't as bad as it could have been. He dug some slippers out of his closet and threw himself onto the bed, sinking into the three pillows, his toes just shy of the bottom, like he liked. When he closed his eyes, he could almost convince himself he hadn't been left totally exposed by the absence of a door, and that the sickly scent of air freshener hadn't obliterated the hazy cosiness of his usual weed-smell. He reached out a hand, and found there were still a couple of cigarettes rolling around loose in his ashtray. He allowed himself to relax just a fraction, his eyes fluttering closed and his breathing becoming less stunted. He'd have to get used to it, then maybe he'd prove he deserved some of his old comforts back. _And_ , he had to keep telling himself else he'd give up trying to believe it, _it could be worse._

It seemed he'd hardly been alone for five minutes when a knocking sound roused him. Instantly on edge, he drew his knees sharply up into his chest, pressing his back against the headboard, and turned to see his sister loitering in the empty doorway, a staple gun in hand. _This is exactly why I need doors in my life. How do I pretend I haven't heard someone I've already made accidental eye contact with?_ He glared, reproachful for the way she'd shattered his fragile relaxation simply by standing there. At least she hadn't crossed into his actual bedroom - her toes were just shy of the carpet.

"Hi. You're... So, welcome back." She rocked on the balls of her feet, her voice as stiff as her board-like shoulders.

 _If I make her that uncomfortable, she should just leave me alone. Someone who's gonna try to torture me with conversation should at least be able to enjoy making me squirm._ His eyes narrowed, suspicious - they'd already done this, hadn't they, the whole reconciliation thing? It hadn't gone particularly well, but it was bound to have been better in the hospital, when he was minding his every action for fear of being locked up in the psych ward, than whatever she was trying to initiate now. Sceptical, he asked, "What do you want?"

She swallowed, and didn't venture any closer. "Nothing, it's just I was thinking, you know, like, I saw Mom and Dad took away your door -"

"Well fucking done. You want a medal?" He snapped, flinching away as her words prodded firmly at that particular sore spot.

She straightened as if she'd been shocked, her mouth and eyes widening into matching circles, before quickly twisting into a disgusted sneer. "Wow. I was only - fuck you, Connor. You just don't - I'm only trying to help, to put up a curtain or something so you don't have to... Fuck it, why should I even care?" She grimaced, pained by her own naivete. She'd sworn she wouldn't get caught up in the fantasies surrounding his suicide attempt, and wouldn't allow the pretty tales about him to taint her own version of him. But she couldn't help hope there was more to him than he'd shown her. Only now she tried to reach it, of course, _of course,_ he refused to let her see. She turned away, more angry than upset. "Mom wants you downstairs. Evan's gonna be here in a minute, then she's dishing up."

"Evan?" He thought his abundant shock might keep her from walking away long enough to explain, but evidently he thought wrong. _I told him to stay away, why is he coming to my house? I'm barely back here, and he's trying to get his feet under the table - again? And literally?_ It didn't make sense, unless he considered the possibility that the other boy might just be _that much of a sick fuck that he can't resist ruining my life_ \- except honestly, apart from probably being a pathological liar, Evan hadn't really seemed that malicious in his intentions.

It was probably just his way of saying a last goodbye to his parents; judging by the way they spoke of him, he'd made quite a bond with them. _Yeah, that's got to be it: this is his last goodbye, and then he'll really be gone. Unless I just come out and tell them how he's lied, and they'll throw him out and he'll have to stay away_. Zoe's shocked face flashed across his mind, _oh, yeah, but then my family will know I'm a total and utter disappointment, and... And maybe I won't get another knock on my doorframe, or get to eat Mom's cake in Dad's car..._

He could do one dinner. Just one, then that would be the end of it.

Resigning himself to what was to come, he slid off of the bed, just as he heard the doorbell ring and the overly enthusiastic tones of his Mom welcoming their honoured guest. Then came a sing-song shout of his name, and he was hauling himself to his feet, knees cracking as he did so. He wondered if that was the sound of fragments of his bones splintering. He wondered how much force it would take for his spindly bones to snap.

Evan was sat at the dining table when he trudged down to join his family - Larry was already at his usual place at the head of the table, Zoe was sat across from Evan passing out the cutlery, and Cynthia was just scooping creamy, steaming portions of carbonara onto their best china. _So the rumours are really true - she's completely abandoned her dairy purge._

Cynthia always sat opposite her husband, between her kids, and assuming she still intended to do so this time, that meant the seat beside Evan's was his. He noted with grim satisfaction that the boy cringed at the whine of Connor's chair as it scraped across the tiles. He shrunk away as Connor sat, _Good. He shouldn't get to enjoy this, he doesn't deserve that._

"H-hi. How's... are you glad to be home?"

Connor glanced around, honestly surprised that Evan had even attempted to maintain his filthy fib. One eyebrow twitched upwards, _We're really going to play it like this?_ But then Cynthia was placing a bowl of pasta on his placemat, and his attention became focused elsewhere. He prodded at it with his fork, flatly mumbling his reply, "It's better than a hospital. At least all that is finished now." _Just like you told me_ this _would be finished, except it's not, because you're in my house, eating my mom's food._

Maybe Evan picked up on his hidden criticism, since he hastily replied, "Yeah, definitely. It will get back to normal now."

"Not quite, I hope," Larry jumped in, a hopeful look passing between him and his wife as he attempted to jest, "The food's already improved."

"Larry," Cynthia's feigned scolding sounded particularly artificial - she was going out of her way to accommodate the two boys, and it only served to make her that much less human. "It won't kill any of us to try new diets now and then."

"Shame." It was out before Connor thought to filter it out, one of those morbid, self-depreciating comments of his, the kind he often managed to contain because he knew they would all overreact. He was proved right the moment the air became dense and heavy. _Shit. It can't - they can't stay like that forever, can they, overreacting to every tiny little thing?_ He shoved a mouthful of pasta into his mouth, ignoring the burn on his tongue, just pouring all of his hope into the idea that moving might keep them all from setting, frozen, in their current positions. "Food's good, Mom."

"Your favourite," Cynthia smiled, relaxing into herself momentarily before she stiffened again, "I mean, I don't know if it's still your favourite, it's just I'll always remember how much you used to love it when you were younger -"

"- No, it's great, Mom. Really." _Just, please no more baby stories; not while we've got a guest. Who knows what the hell kind of weird kinks he has, I don't want him getting any more information he might use to get himself off._

"Better than in the hospital, I'd assume," Larry added, only for Cynthia to cough a sharp, urgent warning. Failing to understand, he carried on, "They wouldn't let us bring you anything -"

"Larry that's -"

"I brought him something," Zoe interjected, "Fast food. Junk, but at least I was _trying_." A purposefully disdainful look towards Connor.

"Zoe, no! While he was in hospital?" Larry stared, aghast. "You didn't mention that! I know you meant well, but you really shouldn't have done that, sweetheart. The doctors told us, the diet at the hospital was specifically designed to provide just the right balance of nutrients..."

"Well, I didn't keel over. And it was the best thing I ate the whole time I was in there," Connor mumbled, a shrug the closest he could come to acknowledging for a second time Zoe's thoughtfulness.

" _Connor,_ That's enough. You don't need to be so morbid, especially when we have your friend with us." Cynthia smiled - she seemed to have nothing but smiles for her son, thin, brittle, breakable smiles - though there was clearly a warning in her words. "Zoe, that was wrong," she added, a dismissive scolding for her second priority.

"Sorry, Mom," Zoe replied, her words deliberately cool, pushing around her pasta passive-aggressively. "I just felt bad for him. I wanted to try to make it a little bit easier for him, but apparently it's too much to ask him to give a shit about anything nice we try to do -"

"Language, please," Larry warned, consternation growing.

"I said thank you, what more do you want from me?" Connor retorted, anger flickering briefly and valiantly within his chest.

"Like I say, it's too much to ask you to put in any more effort than that," Zoe shrugged, her glare fiercely contrasting the otherwise careless demeanour she gave off. "I'm just saying, I shouldn't have bothered."

Cynthia refused to chastise her daughter when they had company; Larry couldn't genuinely and wholeheartedly bring himself to disagree with Zoe's argument. As for Connor, where once the flames of anger would already have engulfed him, this time it was extinguished almost as soon as it had flickered to life. He had no right to be defensive, not when barely ten minutes ago he'd been proving his sister exactly right. She was making an effort, or she had been before he'd shut her down and pushed her away, even after all the reasons he'd already given her not to come near him again. Not even the presence at his elbow was enough to rouse enough feeling to stop the cold, damp sensation of defeat from spreading outwards.

"T-thank you for inviting me," Evan's low murmur edged into the solemn quietness. As ever, it was just enough to bring Cynthia back from the edge of despair.

"You're very welcome, sweetheart, it wouldn't be the same without you." She glanced from Zoe to Connor, "I'm sorry _some_ of us have forgotten our manners, but it's a pleasure having you here. You know you're always welcome..." Evan was already shaking his head, leaving her to chuckle, "No, no, I know. _Secret_ best friends, right? _Top_ secret." She tapped the side of her nose, and Evan couldn't help but smile at her genuine friendliness. "Back to how it used to be with the two of you."

"Exactly. You'll barely even notice it," Connor muttered, making sure this time to catch Evan's eye as he said so, _and if they do see you again, especially anywhere near me, I'll make sure that's not the only cast you need._

"I still can't believe you've kept it hidden all this time," Larry mused, munching on his carbonara as if the miniature explosion on Zoe's part hadn't even happened, or if it had, it had occurred in a room far away from the one he was in. "How long did you say it had been? Connor?"

 _Hell if I know_. He turned to the boy at his side. He wasn't exactly proud of the smug smirk that tugged his lips upwards when he saw just how wide and afraid Evan's eyes were - _you brought this on yourself, dumbass_. "A little while. A couple of years, I guess. Right?"

"Mmm-hmm," Evan nodded, rapid, anxious.

"And how did it start?" Cynthia seemed keen to jump on the bandwagon, since it was the closest thing to acceptable conversation topics since they'd all sat down for dinner.

He turned to Evan, expectant, challenging. _You can take this one, friendo._

Evan nodded, or maybe that was just him shaking from the tension. "W-well," he cleared his throat and tried again, "Well we knew, we know each other from school. W-we're in some of the same classes -"

"But he never let's you talk to him at school," Zoe oh-so-helpfully reminded Evan, refusing to take her eyes away from him as she recalled, "He shoved you to the floor the last time you tried."

" _Really_? I'm like, right here." Connor rolled his eyes, already done with the passive aggression, until another thought struck him, _Wait, he said I pushed him because I didn't want him to talk to me? That doesn't even make sense, and that makes me look like a dick - oh yeah, and it completely ignores how I actually did it because he laughed at me. Bitch. Fuck you, Evan Hansen._

"That-that's t-true, yeah," Evan quickly tried to appease both of the Murphy siblings, unsure whether the cool disappointment coming across from him or the steaming magma at his side posed a greater risk to him. _Probably Connor - he's closest_. "He said sorry straight after. But anyway, I'm just, that's how I-I recognized him, and how we started uh, talking, when, when I saw him," his gaze was cast low, drifting over the table for ideas, drifting from his plate, to the salt and pepper pots, to the bowl of apples in the centre, "At the, t-the, a-apple... place."

 _What. The. Fuck._

"Apples?" Maybe his Mom was finally realising what a fraud her guest of honour was, judging by the frown marring her friendly expression. Only, _no_ , she was trying to take it somewhere else entirely, "Connor, did you go back to the or-"

 _Definitely not._ "The Apple store," Connor corrected, forced to intervene before the woman gave Evan any more material to integrate into his delusions. _So that's how he's managed to fool them so long. Turns out my family is a bunch of naive idiots._ "The one at the oasis mall," he explained, slowly digging his sharp elbow into Evan's side, just subtly enough that it went unnoticed by the others.

"Y-yeah," Evan agreed, relief screaming out of him. "We-I was looking, for a-a new phone -"

"And I told him not to get one there because they're flimsy pieces of crap which are gradually becoming more and more useless, to the extent that their main and most successfully achieved purpose is to function as a status symbol for the middle and upper classes." He looked pointedly at his father, who had somehow managed to smash his phone screen three times within the past year.

"Yeah. So I didn't, but I laughed and we kept talking, and..."

"And that was _it_ ," Connor finished, an air of finality about his words.

* * *

The one thing that stood a chance at redeeming Evan in Connor's eyes was the fact that that he had tried to eat quickly. He was the first to clear his dish, and Connor recognized that as a clear sign that he was trying to find an excuse to leave them as soon as possible, but apparently Cynthia hadn't interpreted it that way, since she'd heaped a second portion of pasta into the bowl, deaf to his babbling protests. If it had been anyone else, Connor would have genuinely pitied him. It wasn't exactly pleasant to watch a person floundering and helpless, too shy to firmly shut down his mom's blatant efforts to trap him there for longer, and too polite to tell her he'd already forced down more than enough food far faster than he should have, even if that person was possibly the single most detested thing in his life.

He got the impression he was just as relieved at Evan when the table was eventually cleared, and it was socially acceptable for him to make his excuses and slip away, offering fervent thanks as Connor escorted him to the door.

"Thank you." Evan was stood on his doorstep, finally ready to leave, but he couldn't in good conscience walk away without first apologising. "For going along with all that, I mean. I'm, I know I told-promised you I'd leave you all alone, I _will_ , I definitely will, and I meant to, it's just that Zoe asked if I would come just this once, I-I didn't want to let her down..." Connor's glare was intensifying. Apparently he could somewhat recall the reason for their dispute in the computer lab that day. "A-anyway, just, thanks for... having me. And not throwing me out, or anything."

He couldn't bring himself to say Evan was welcome, because he really, really wasn't. Instead, he remarked, "You're a really crappy liar."

"I thought I was getting good. I mean, I can't be that bad." The reply came unbiden, quick and easy and just edged with amusement at the irony of it all. He remembered himself too soon to let it last, and swiftly shrunk back, pulling his personality back into his body and locking it away. He looked small, hunched over like that.

 _And sometimes people are just small, and that doesn't have to mean they have some sob story. I made that mistake before. He lied, remember, he's a liar and the only reason he got away with it is because he was lying about stuff your family was desperate to hear._ "Don't fucking remind me," Connor muttered, letting his head roll to lean on the door. "So, that's it, then? For real this time, properly, yes?"

"Yes. Definitely." He nodded. He looked like he meant it, as well.

"Good." He waited, the moments slipping by in silence until Evan realized Connor was done. Cautiously, he took a step backwards. "I'll see you around."

"Yeah. I hope things... Good luck, Connor." He started to raise his cast, but let it fall to his side before he could wave, thinking better of it. Instead he turned away and moved on.

He closed the door as soon as Evan was far enough away to permit it.

Turning back towards the house, he debated whether he'd be allowed to just head straight upstairs. Depending on whether his parents were still feeling overly permissive after his and Zoe's spat over dinner, he could probably get them to agree that he needed an early night, not more family time. His bed was calling to him, and he ached to obey. Making a decision, he trudged up the stairs, only hearing the chimes of guitar strings when he was already up there. Weird, he hadn't noticed Zoe come up.

Momentarily, he wondered if he should apologise. _But, why bother telling her you're sorry when you don't even know how to change? That's like lying, and she's had more of that than she even realizes lately. Besides,_ she _was the one having a go at dinner._ He made to keep walking. _Because I was rude to her earlier_. He froze. _That just proves there's no point in saying sorry for something that's not gonna get better._ Connor walked past Zoe's door to his own, until he was stopped again, curiosity piqued when the music halted suddenly. And then came the footsteps, and it was only as Zoe was pushing the door open that he realized he'd left it too late to convincingly retreat, and anyhow her ice-chip eyes were on him and he found himself suspended in place.

"I know you're not going to say sorry, so I won't either," she told him, leading him to briefly wonder if she'd somehow heard his train of thought. "But I guess it can't be easy coming back, and maybe that just means you won't notice us bending over backwards to make things better for you, because you're too busy looking at the things that are difficult." She sighed, put out.

 _If I'm that much of an inconvenience, don't even bother._ He bit his tongue, expectant.

"It's good," she added, stiff and reluctant, "Seeing the way you are with Evan. I don't know, I'm glad you're not a total dick to everyone. Maybe when you're done readjusting or whatever, maybe you won't have to shut all the rest of us out."

 _I shut you out because you wouldn't even try to understand what I'm going through, none of you! how can you expect me to talk to you when you won't fucking listen! It's not my fault, it's not only my fault. You're not the only fucking victim here, I'm..._ He blinked hard, trying to cut off that though before he began spiraling into internalized despair. He tried pick out which of those things he could let himself say and sort them apart from those which he didn't trust her enough to hear. But she was turning away too soon, hiding her own uncertainty from him, and part of him wanted to scream, _you're doing it again, walking away, and I'm not high or violent, I'm just_ here _and I'm sick and you don't fucking care,_ but another part of him wanted to turn his back. Retreat to his room without a door, stand in the shower with the water hot enough that he could fantasize about it blistering his skin, and let those thoughts of loathing swim around his mind, tearing strips out of the fragile okay-ness he'd been trying - _I really have been trying_ \- to maintain.

If he shouted all his hate at Zoe, he'd be proving her right. So he gave into the second part of impulse, to direct his potent anger at none but himself.

* * *

 **A/N:** **Please don't send the Apple snipers to come and get me, i just don't think Connor's big on large corporations.**

 **("The Apple plac-" "THE APPLE STORE" has been in my head for like 10 months and all I have wanted since was to finally write Connor contradicting Evan about where they "met". I think that was possibly the biggest motivation to write this? ooops)**

 **Also. I know the Murphys wanted Connor to go to college. But I don't think they'd be surprised if he didn't want to, and given what happened I don't think they would be angry. They're ofte in the connor lives fics i read. poor kiddo.**

 **Hamilton was incredible. I cried so much and then I met the cast. best. day. ever. going back in september.**

 **Also please PLEASE go listen to Dirty Computer, and watch the film on Youtube. Janelle Monae is an artistic genius and she deserves all the love and recognition in the world.**

 **Anyway, that's this update! I hope you liked it. Let me know what you think, I'll love you forever. Take care, reader xx**


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